Half Truths
by purrina57
Summary: "His face is right in front of mine, his breath warm and delicious against my lips as he says, "'I can handle you.'" I simply duck under his arm and say, "'We shall see.'" Clary is trained for this, to be the perfect woman, and maybe the perfect wife. It's her job, what she was born into and what she has been raised to do. But CAN she do it? Futuristic Clary/Jace.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: New story! Just a little note, this is set in the future, although the architecture and style is very 1940/1950-ish. You will understand what is going on later in the story, so I won't tell y'all now. Y'all just enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter One

"You have to do this, Clary," Mother says to me.

I press my lips together, smooth my hands over my new dress. The fabric of it brushes against my skin like cool silk, running water, but it does nothing to soothe me. "I know I do. That doesn't mean I _want_ to."

"Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to do," she replies sternly, her eyes grave. "For the better good."

I stare coolly out of the window, my face set in stone—just as my mother has taught me. "I know."

"It's not what I want for you," Mother says softly. "It never was, but this is what has to be done."

I inhale deeply, close my eyes against the rainy window I've been watching. I know what I have to do. I've never had any doubts about that. And I've never thought of running away from my duties, either. Mother is right. This is what has to be done, and I'm the only one that can do it.

"I know," I simply repeat.

* * *

The night is dark, but the lights of the city are bright.

Everything is opulent, dripping wealth in this part of town—the Guardians' part of town.

I watch from the backseat of the luxurious car as we speed by towering hotel after towering hotel, each flashing neon lights with Old Hollywood glamor. I purse my lips and try to slow my pounding heart, but it's of no use.

The enormity of what I'm about to do overwhelms me.

"Here we are, Miss," the driver announces as he pulls to stop outside the Wonderer—the Guardians' headquarters.

I glance out the window at the old hotel building that seems to tower above even the tallest skyscrapers in the city. The Wonderer is practically ancient, built in the Old Years, and it oozes class and money. The very sight turns my stomach, but my face remains stoic as the driver opens my door and helps me out.

My blood red, silken dress tumbles elegantly to the pavement as I wrap my fur coat around my shoulders tighter in face of the cool evening. I see men glancing at me as they pass by on the street, but it does not faze me. Tonight, I only care if I catch one man's eye.

If I don't…

Well, I best not think about that now.

"Thank you," I murmur to the driver as I begin the trek up the front steps of the hotel.

I let my hips sway back and forth slowly, the way I was taught, and I stroll inside the grand lobby of the Wonderer with the cool confidence my mother has instilled in me since birth, practically.

"Welcome, Miss," a greeter in a dark suit says, and I see his eyes skim me up and down—once and quickly—but I still catch it. "May I help you?"

I smile slowly at him and lower my voice so that it comes out breathy yet raspy. "Yes. I am Miss Fray—here to speak with a Mr. Wayland."

The man's eyes widen a fraction. "Mr. W-Wayland? Jonathan Wayland?"

"Yes," I reply sweetly, watching as realization sinks into the young man's face.

"Oh." He lowers his eyes to the shinny marble floors quickly. "I see. I shall show you to the dining room, then, Miss." He hastily begins walking, barely giving me time to view the lobby and its golden chandeliers and spiraling staircases and rich décor.

He walks me down a long, tall hallway where people in wealthy clothes drift past us, most Guardians—as evidence by their ethereal beauty and the faint swirling lines peeking from their sleeves.

I take a deep breath to steady myself as I follow close behind the man, refusing to let myself be entranced by the lavish surroundings.

The man takes me up an elevator, and then down another luxurious hall before we walk out onto a balcony of sorts that overlooks a stunning dining room, filled with table-cloth covered tables and candelabras and chandeliers. There are walls of windows that overlook the shinning city below us, giving a perfect view and feeling of being suspended above the air. A string band plays soft music from the stage as a few people dine in the elegant surroundings.

This is more opulence than I've ever seen, only heard about. But I am to act as if I'm very comfortable with these things, as if I've been raised amongst the jewels and gold just like everyone else here.

"This way, Miss," the man says quickly, jumping down the steps. I follow him slowly, careful not to trip in my high heels.

We arrive at a table in the corner of the room, situated so that we have a better view than anyone of the city and the lights below. The man takes my coat and pulls a chair out for me. I take it gracefully. "Thank you," I tell him, offering another smile that barely curves my red-painted lips.

The man stares a little longer than necessary at the now-exposed, plunging sweetheart neckline of my dress. "Of course, Miss. Mr. Wayland will be here momentarily."

I nod, even though I know he will make me wait.

And he doesn't disappoint.

I sit alone for twenty minutes, listening to the band and staring out over the city, where in the distance I can see the arid mountains beyond, dark against the even darker sky. My hands shake slightly as I subtly wipe them against the silk of my dress.

"Miss Friar?"

I turn and see the man, the man that must be Mr. Wayland. He's as young as I've heard, but much better looking than I expect. Even for a Guardian, his warm skin-tone and tumbling golden curls are above and beyond attractive. He's a perfectly beautiful specimen, angelic looking just as his bloodline should show.

He fastens his burning gold eyes with mine as he smiles a slow half smile full of arrogance. He takes my hand, brushes his lips over my knuckles as light as a feather and as hot at the sun.

"Miss Fray, actually," I correct calmly, pulling my hand back.

He smirks and drops carelessly into the chair across from mine, his long legs sprawled slightly. "I'm Jace Wayland."

"Not Jonathan?" I inquire in my most subdued tone.

"Jace is a nickname, one I prefer." He glances over at the waiter and snaps his fingers at him. "Champagne, please."

The waiter nods and does not even ask bothering for my order before retreating towards the kitchen.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Fray. You're stunning, of course."

I smile mysteriously and say, "Thank you." Then I cross my knees, letting one of my slim, pale legs peek out from underneath my dress. I twirl my ankle slightly, showing off my red, peep-toe sling-back heels.

Jace notices, his eyes glancing over my legs, settling on my shoes, and he smirks again, his gaze flickering back to mine. He grabs one of the glasses of sparkling water on the table and takes a sip, his swirling eyes never leaving mine. "You look young."

"I'm sixteen," I say primly.

"Are you going to try to tell me next that you're an innocent, untouched virgin?" he inquires with a smile as he finds a cigarette from his coat and lights it between his lips.

I'm unbothered outwardly by his intrusive question because this is to be suspected. "I am. Jocelyn knows you detest the used up girls, so she gave you a fresh one—me."

Jace blows out a cloud of smoke around half-cocked lips. "You favor Jocelyn."

"She's my mother."

"Interesting. Your profession doesn't seem one that a mother would encourage for her daughter—especially since your mother is the head whore of them all. She should know all the dirty secrets of the trade."

"It's a respectable job—not a prostitution business. We provide companionship for well-to-do Guardians. It's hardly something to turn your nose up at."

"Companionship," Jace murmurs with an ironic twist of his lips. "A polite substitute for fucking men for jewelry or marriage."

I blink. "For a man that seems to have such a small opinion on us, you have chosen our services."

"My father chose your services. He favors your mother, you know," Jace replies, a sharp note in his voice as he leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. "He asked her to pick her best and brightest for me, so that the girl could be my wife. He feels that it's time I marry."

"How old _are_ you?"

"Twenty-one."

"It doesn't seem horribly old," I reply. "Why is there such a rush for matrimony?"

Jace's eyes flicker away, his head turning. I see his jaw feather as he stares out at the city, the lights sparkling in his eyes and catching the gold shimmer of his curls. "Sometimes Guardians do not have a very long life. He wishes for me to marry and produce an heir before I am killed."

"I have heard you are quite reckless when in battle," I murmur.

Jace's eyes meet mine again, a smile flashing across his lips. "There's no other way to be in battle, unless you wish to loose, Miss Fray."

I purse my lips and nod my head slightly in cool agreement.

"Anyway, my father has decided what I need to do, and now, here we are. But I don't exactly relish the idea of marrying a whore."

I feel blood rush to my cheeks in barely restrained rage. "I am no whore, Mr. Wayland. As I have said, I've never been touched."

"Not even kissed?" he inquires with a playful note in his tone, his eyes dropping to my mouth.

"No, never even kissed."

"That doesn't make you any less of a whore."

"How do you suppose this?" I ask with an arch of my brow.

"Look at you—you and your fuck-me pumps and the plunging neckline of your dress. Everything about you screams whore—a sexy whore—but a whore nonetheless." Jace leans back in his chair, tossing his arm over the back of it, a smile dancing on his smirky lips. "It's not as if you can help it, though. You were raised by a whore—in a house full of whores. It's only natural."

I give a tight-lipped smile. "Interesting that you feel that way. I have heard you've used my mother's house many times for services."

"I use the girls when I need to get laid, Miss Fray. With a job like mine, I don't exactly have time to woo as many women as I'd like, and sometimes, I need instant gratification."

"Whatever you tell yourself," I say sweetly.

Jace's eyes tighten, but his smile widens. "It doesn't mean, however, that I wish to marry one of those whores. Surely you understand."

"You'll excuse me if my understanding in this area is lacking. To me, you are simply a hypocrite—a man that pays women for sex but looks down on them. Doesn't that seem slightly contradictory?"

Jace chuckles, a low and breathy laugh that makes my heart flutter slightly. He merely shakes his head. "You're an interesting girl, Miss Fray. You don't even appear to be vying for my approval. Surely for you, marrying me would be quite a step up in the world."

"You assume too much, Mr. Wayland," I reply with a syrupy smile.

Jace's eyes dance with both irritation and mirth, and I feel slightly victorious because I know I've intrigued him. My mother has picked me for more reasons than my beauty or my loyalty. She has picked me because I have the fire to draw in Jace Wayland. He doesn't respond to docile girls.

The waiter soon returns with the champagne and pours it for us. When he leaves, Jace's questions continue.

"Did Jocelyn send you because you were her daughter?" Jace inquires.

"She sent me because she knows you have a fondness for redheads—and untouched girls, as I've said earlier. There is no favoritism involved in our business, Mr. Wayland. She chose me because I was a good fit."

He has no idea how true this is.

* * *

An hour later, Jace is walking me back outside, to the cool, bustling city.

We wait for my car to reappear on the corner, in front of the towering Wonderer, and he glances down at me, his eyes curious and slightly dark.

He brushes a few strands of my red hair off my cheek, behind my ear, and leans down to whisper softly, "Why don't you stay the night, Miss Fray, and we'll see how good of a fit you really are."

I tug at my gloves calmly, ignoring the goosebumps Jace's hot breath raises on my neck. "Contrary to your belief, Mr. Wayland, I am not a whore—and most definitely not _your_ whore." I turn my head, so that my nose brushes his chin and my eyes are fastened to his Adam's apple, as I add in a soft voice, "And I will not be going to your bed until you have said 'I do' with a priest present."

"Until? So confident that I will agree to you being my wife?" Jace asks, pulling away from me so that I can see his smirk.

"I think your curiosity to see if you can handle me will be too great to ignore," I reply, seeing out of the corner of my eye that my car has arrived and pulled up in front of us.

Jace leans down and opens the door for me, but he keeps his arm in the way of me climbing inside. His face is right in front of mine, his breath warm and delicious against my lips as he says, "I can handle you."

I simply duck under his arm and say, "We shall see."

Jace bends down, his hand resting casually atop the car as he grins and says, "We shall." And then he shuts the door, and we are driving away.

And I let out the shuddering breath I have been holding all night.

But I wait to cry until I am home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Last update for the evening! Enjoy! Oh, and PLEASE let me know what y'all think! Reviews are the greatest ever! Thanks (:**

* * *

Chapter Two

"You look lovely," Mother says to me.

I stare at my reflection, at my perfectly soft, waved curls that frame my pale and innocent face, my green eyes large. I am pretty, I think, but I wish many times that I am not. If I weren't pretty, Mother would have never asked me to do this.

This is important, what I am doing. It's a job most of the girls here would kill for. But to me, it's terrifying—that I might have to be wed to a man I not only do not but can never love, that I might have to lie with him every night and pretend every day.

My life is stretching before me, endless. A huge trap that I will forever be stuck in.

I might loose my _virginity_ to this man.

I pale even further.

"Clary, you've done well," Mother says, smoothing her hands over my shoulders, fiddling with the straps of my dress so that they lay flat. Her face is smooth with calm but her eyes are troubled. I know this is hard for her, too—to hand her daughter over to the wolves on a silver platter. "You'll do well again tonight, when you meet his parents."

I turn my head slightly so that I can see the large, diamond earrings that dangle and sparkle from my ears. They are heavy, brushing my shoulders. They are the nicest things I've worn—a gift that my mother was given many years ago for her _services_.

I wish I wasn't wearing them.

But Mother insisted they went perfectly with my floor-length, emerald green, form-fitting gown that shows off each one of my curves attractively. And they do go perfectly with it, she's right.

I just feel sickened wearing them, though.

"Be home soon," Mother whispers to me before kissing my cheek.

I wish I never had to leave.

* * *

"You look amazing," comes a hot, familiar voice in my ear.

I don't start but simply turn my head back slightly, so that I can see Jace out of the corner of my eye, and I say, "Thank you."

He comes to stand beside me, looking devastatingly dashing in his dark suit and black, thin tie that he's pulled out much too loose. He's smirking. "Nervous about meeting my parents?"

"Hardly." I reach up and pat my hair. "I'm simply surprised you asked me to come back after our first dinner."

"You're not surprised," Jace says, calling me out on the truth. "Women like you are used to getting fawned over."

I've never been fawned over, actually. Mother has kept me locked away from most men, despite her business. But I smile slowly. "And men like you are used to getting what they want."

"Yes," Jace replies without missing a beat. He's looking at me intently, but I have my eyes fixed on the lovely view of the bustling city below. "Want a smoke?"

"Please," I murmur, pulling my drape tighter over one of my shoulders. We are standing on a private balcony at the Wonderer. A table for four has been set up, lit with a singular candle. I was seated a few minutes ago, but I couldn't stand to be still so I got up and leaned against the balcony's railing, staring down at the street so many feet below.

I thought about jumping.

But I didn't.

Of course, I didn't.

"Here." Jace has a cigarette now, held closely to my mouth. I make eye contact with him as I close my lips around it, and he smirks darkly, bringing the lighter to the end of the cigarette and igniting it. "For a woman that professes innocence, you seem well-versed in seduction."

"I have been taught the tricks of the trade," I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke delicately. "No pun intended."

Jace laughs, and then asks, "And what kinds of tricks have you been taught, exactly?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see," I allude, even though any sexual tricks are entirely beyond me. Mother has taught me things I should do to seduce a man, but anything regarding intercourse is something I've never been told—because I never wanted to know. I am disgusted by the idea.

Jace smirks but doesn't comment further because he seems to be absorbed by the small flame of the candle sitting on the table. He is distant tonight, more so than the previous night we had dinner. I study him in his distraction, study his strong beauty and the darkness that lurks underneath all that gold. He is dark, with the ability to be cruel. I can see it in his features, in the way he holds himself. He is guarded, too. Dangerous.

I swallow and look away, back down to the street below us as car after car speeds towards its destination.

"Jonathan!"

We both turn to see an attractive older man stroll outside onto the balcony with confident ease. He moves a lot like Jace, though his arrogance is slightly more subdued. His hair is almost white, despite his unlined face, and it catches the starlight and candlelight like strands of spider web. "Ah. This must be Miss Fray."

The man walks over and takes my hand, kissing it with as much smoothness as Jace. "It's lovely to finally meet you. You are as beautiful as your mother."

I smile slightly. "Thank you."

"I'm Valentine, Jonathan's father."

"A pleasure," I murmur to him.

Valentine winks. "Well, I am afraid to announce that my wife will not be joining us. She is unwell this evening, but she extends her greetings to you, as well, Miss Fray."

"Clary, please," I interject politely.

"Of course." He pulls out a chair for her and offers it with a flourish of his arm.

"Thank you," she says again, sitting carefully.

Jace takes the seat beside her stiffly, his face shut off and dead as Valentine sits across from them.

"My son does not wish to get married, as I'm sure you know," Valentine says. "But you've impressed him enough that he has agreed to be married to you, if you agree the same, Clary."

I swallow against the lump in my throat. There is no thrill at having my mother's plan work. I know I should be happy, but I only feel dread. I smile nonetheless and say, without a hitch in my voice, "Of course I agree."

Jace's eyes flicker over to me, but I cannot discern the look in them. He's too guarded now.

"Wonderful." Valentine smiles, a cold indifference lurking underneath his face. He is frozen, a man with ice in his veins, whom will not hesitate to take immoral paths to get what he wants. He is everything the Guardians were not supposed to be, everything that the Guardians have become.

They are our protectors, given to us by God, to defend us humans from the demons that invaded our earth 219 years ago. They have angel blood in them. They have powers beyond us that were meant to help us, to keep us safe—not to rule over us like tyrants.

Everything is wrong.

Valentine is the epitome of this abuse of power.

I hate him. I hate him and Jace and all of the Guardians in the Wonderer now. They are evil, cruel creatures.

"The wedding will take place, soon as there is no reason to delay," Valentine says and then rings a small bell on the table. A waiter appears, and Valentine places an order. The waiter obeys diligently and disappears back into the Wonderer.

"Is your mother well?" Valentine asks without one ounce of care in his voice.

"Yes," I reply. "She is well."

"That's excellent. Your mother is a very interesting woman, Clary."

"Yes," I repeat dully.

Jace is looking bored now, sprawled out in his chair, and I see him roll his eyes at his father's comments.

"I would like to discuss with you the duties that will be required of you when you become Jonathan's wife, Clary," Valentine says as the waiter brings out huge plates of steaming, gourmet food and places them before us. Valentine doesn't even blink at the man, nonetheless thank him—he just focuses on me as he finds his fork and digs into the steak on his plate. "You will accompany him to every public event he attends. You will bare his children. You will take care of any needs he may have—sexual or otherwise. You will obey him on every matter. In return, you will be given your own penthouse here in the hotel. You will be given your heart's desire of jewels and clothing and anything else you may want or require. You will be taken care of in every aspect. Is this agreeable?"

"Yes," I say, and I hear my voice beginning to loose its singsong quality. It is slowly becoming more and more monotone. Robotic.

"Should you not be able to produce children, you will be disposed of for a woman that can, understood?"

Heartless. Monster.

I see Jace from the corner of my eye, and he's got his head tilted back, looking bored as he stares up at the night sky.

How could these men be descendent from angels? Has that angel blood slowly drained away as the generations have passed?

"Understood," I tell Valentine, nodding.

"Many of the Guardian men marry women like you," Valentine says. "It's not uncommon so there's no need to feel as though you need to lie about your heritage. Most of the men, in fact, have arranged marriages with your type. We don't have time to find true love. Many of us don't live very long, as you know."

I nod again.

"However, you may not dress inappropriately or act inappropriately—or in any way embarrass my son. You are not to leave your penthouse looking like a whore, or looking any way but acceptable to Jonathan. Is that clear?"

"Of course," I say, holding back the rising anger I feel bubbling in my chest.

"Wonderful. You seem like a very intelligent girl, Clary." Valentine, who has been steadily eating as we discuss, now polishes off his steak. He dabs at his mouth with his cloth napkin and then slowly stands. "Very well. I will take my leave now. There are many matters that I must attend to. Please, continue to enjoy your meal. And Jonathan?"

Jace looks dully at his father.

"I need to speak with you later—after you've seen Miss Fray off." Valentine looks at him expectantly.

"Yes, Father," Jace replies mechanically.

"I shall see you soon, Clary," Valentine says with a smile and a nod before he disappears back inside, leaving Jace and I to ourselves.

I look over at him as he tilts his head back again to stare upwards at the stars. "You approve of me after all, then?"

"Not hardly." Jace levels his gaze with mine. His eyes are so unusual, so breathtakingly beautiful that I can almost fool myself into thinking he's not as heartless as his father. But he is. Or if he's not, by some miracle, yet—he will be. "You're just probably the best whore there is, so I'll take you."

"Flattering," I say, looking down at my untouched food.

Jace stares at me for a long time. I can feel his gaze like a physical, heavy touch, and it unnerves me.

He leans towards me suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why are you doing this?"

"Pardon?" I inquire dully.

"Why are you marrying me? You don't know me. You act like you're almost disgusted by me."

"Aren't you just the most clever thing?" I inquire.

Jace's hand is on my arm, faster than I can blink, and he's standing, hauling me up with him, making me bump into his chest. His eyes are glaring, fiery hot, down into mine, and his grip is hard enough to bruise the soft skin of my arm. He's hurting me. "You might as well know now, Miss Fray, that I do not have much tolerance for an attitude. You also might like to know that I have a temper problem. Don't think for a second that because you're beautiful and delicate that I won't put you in your place."

"You'd strike me?" I demand, my fear making my voice come out sharper than I intend.

"No. I'd find more inventive ways of hurting you than physical pain," he hisses into my face. He hauls me up a little higher, so that our faces are closer and I stand on tiptoe, my feet barely brushing the ground. He's so strong that it terrifies me.

His grip is tightening on my arm, getting more and more agonizing, until I think he's going to snap the thin bone beneath his constricting fingers. But then he's letting go, shoving me away from him.

My back hits against the railing of the balcony painfully.

"Let's get just a few things clear, Miss Fray," Jace says, leaning into me, placing his hands on either side of me, on the railing, so that I am trapped by him, unable to move. "I will not be talked down to by anyone—least of all you. I will not tolerate you mouthing off to me. You will not be my significant other when we are married—just someone to hang off my arms at events and someone to be in my bed when I wish you to. You will not give me advice, will not speak to me unless spoken to, will be my other half, will not be equal to me in any way. Is that all understood?"

I stare up at him, my gaze unwavering as he glares down at me. Every part of me feels like I'm trembling, but not my eyes. My eyes remain strong somehow. I say, "Understood."

Jace's eyes drop down to my lips, which are parted with shock, and then his gaze drops lower, to my chest, which is made to look extra large by my tight fitting dress and push up bra. And then he grips my chin roughly, suddenly, forcing my mouth close to his for a brief moment, making me think he would steal me first kiss away in spite.

But he lets go, marches away from me, and rings the bell for the waiter. He appears almost immediately, and Jace says, still glaring at me, "Call for Miss Fray's car. It's time she gets home."

* * *

I lay in my bed, my tears finally beginning to dry against my cheeks.

I have cried for the past two hours, my mind running over the horrors that are surely coming, but now, I am simply numb.

I pray the numbness will last, that it will help me through the next few days.

It's the only hope I have.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I know I said that Chapter 2 was my last update...but I'm on a roll and couldn't stop myself even though I should really be in bed by now. Oops. Chapter Four following this one. These two chapters were supposed to be my chapters for tomorrow, so y'all probably won't get any chapters tomorrow. So enjoy these now! (:**

* * *

Chapter Three

"What do you think?" asks Mr. Lamb as he motions around us.

I glance once more at the room, still as in awe of it as when we first walked in. The walls are white with crown moldings, and the hardwoods a dark contrast, covered in thick, Oriental rugs. Art hangs from the walls. A grand piano is situated in one corner. The furniture is old but luxuriously restored to grandeur, upholstered with silk, pastel-flower printed fabrics. The entire penthouse is very feminine and girly and subdued, but undeniably wealthy. The air stinks of money.

"It's lovely," I say dully, peeping out the window. I'm on one of the top floors of the Wonderer, and from here, I can see the sun shinning brightly on the mountains in the distance, away from this city and this horrible hotel.

"I had hoped you'd like it," Mr. Lamb says, smiling warmly, oblivious to my dark mood. He's a surprisingly kind man because he's not a Guardian. He's only half Guardian, and as such, he's been deduced to human's work in the Guardians' palace. I saw the subtle, snide looks the Guardians gave him, simply because his blood is half human.

It's disgusting.

And Mr. Lamb has been nice to me the entire day, as he's shown me around the hotel, to the huge swimming pools, the ballrooms, the kitchens, the dinning rooms.

So I smile at him as sweetly as I can. "I do like it. Thank you."

Mr. Lamb nods and smiles again. "Of course, Miss Fray. Now, your clothes have been sent over. They are in the closet in your bedroom. But we also had your mother write down your measurements. New clothes for you are being made as we speak."

I feel my face fall, but my voice doesn't change as I repeat, "Thank you."

Mr. Lamb nods again. "Sure, Miss Fray." He stares at me, not speaking for a moment, and it's the third time today that he's done this. I wonder if he's ever met a Date before, not that I am a Date like my mother is, but he has surely heard rumors to the contrary. People do love to talk, human or not.

"Miss Fray—" Mr. Lamb begins but is interrupted by Jace's sudden appearance.

He strolls into the room, wearing a white undershirt and black slacks on, his hair messy. He doesn't even look at Mr. Lamb as he says, "You're excused."

Mr. Lamb clears his throat but nods. "Yes, sir." And with one more look at me, he disappears.

Jace has his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on the floor, before he suddenly lifts his head and meets my gaze. "Do you find your room satisfactory, Miss Fray?"

"Yes, it's nice. I would prefer you call me Clary, now, though. We are to be married in only a few weeks," I tell him, as if doesn't already know.

Jace walks over towards me, his feet bare. I wonder if he's just woken up, despite the late afternoon hour. He comes to pause beside the window with me, and he looks outside for a long minute. Then he turns his face back towards mine, our eyes locking. "Fine. Clary."

His eyes are warm and golden, swirling like liquid, and when he says my name, he says it slowly, as if testing it out. And I don't like how nervous it makes me feel or how close he's standing.

So I turn my face back towards the window, dropping his gaze.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?" he inquires with a smirk in his voice.

"What?" I ask.

"Being alone with me."

I scoff. "We've been alone before, Mr. Wayland."

"Jace. And not like this," he says, stepping closer to me, so that I can feel the heat of his body against mine and smell his masculine, spicy scent. "Not without a waiter hanging around, waiting for a bell or without people dinning a few tables down."

I feel his fingers skim my arm, and even though I wear a long-sleeved dress today, I can almost imagine what his fingers would feel like against my skin.

I turn my face towards his, offering a small frown. "I don't fully understand you, Mr. Wayland. Just yesterday you were giving me these." I pause to push up the sleeve of my dress, to show him the dark bruises he left on my arm. "And now, you're attempting to seduce me."

"I'm not attempting anything, Miss Fray," he replies, his voice smooth and deep. "If I were, you'd be seduced by now."

"So arrogant," I say.

"As if you aren't."

"I'm not," I insist, looking back at the window so I don't have to look at him and his dangerous eyes. "I'm confident. There's a difference."

"These dresses you wear," Jace says, and even though I have my eyes firmly fastened on the window, I can feel his eyes on me, all over me, running up and down the curve-hugging green dress I have on today, with its scooped, plunging neckline. "You wear them because you know you're sexy enough to pull them off—to pull this off." His fingers smooth over my collarbone and dip lower, lower and lower still until he's tracing the low neckline.

There's this strange feeling that comes over me, a fluttering and light-headed feeling. It's because his touch is so light and slow, and it makes me react. But the reaction is much stronger than I anticipate and it makes me panic.

I grab his wrist quickly, pulling his hand away from my skin, and I look up at him, barely managing to throw a sweet smile on my face as I say, "Now, Mr. Wayland. You know how I feel about this."

He arches his brows. "What makes you think I care how you feel about it?"

I feel my lips part in shock, and then I'm being pushed backwards, slammed up against the side of a bookshelf, my head striking the wood. My gasp echoes through the room as Jace presses himself dangerously close to me.

His lips skim my temple, making my heart pound—whether from fear or something else, I'm not sure. I feel so strange, so unlike myself that it's startling.

"Planning to force yourself on me?" I ask in a barely shaky voice as I fix my eyes on the wall, anything to keep from looking at him.

"No. I won't ever force anything on you," Jace replies calmly. And then his lips are on my jaw, ghosting over to my ear, leaving a trail of heat behind. And his breath is nearly scorching as he says, softly, "You'll be begging for it soon enough."

My head snaps around so that our eyes will meet and he can see the fury burning within them. But my move brings our lips too close together, and his nearness is making me sickly dizzy.

What is wrong with me?

His nose touches mine gently, his lips drawing so near to mine that I can almost feel them already. Soft and warm.

But then he's shoving away from me roughly, letting me sag back against the bookshelf lifelessly as he smirks and backs up slowly.

"See you later, honey," he murmurs, jerking his chin at me a little before ambling out of the room like the bastard he is.

* * *

"I have something for you," Mother says after she's knocked on my door and peeped inside. "May I come in?"

I put the book I've been reading away and sit up in my bed. "Sure."  
Mother slips inside, carrying a thin box underneath her arm. She's wearing her nightgown, and her red hair is unpinned, falling in loose, beautiful curls around her perfect face. She seems to glow in the dim light of my room. She's always glowing like that, like her own personal sun.

She sits down on the corner of my bed, sits the box between us. Her eyes find mine, and she smiles softly. "I know this is hard, Clary. It's hard for me, too—beyond hard for both of us. This isn't the life I wanted for you. But it seems it was meant to happen."

I nod slowly, picking at the hem of my bed sheets.

"This is not the kind of wedding gift I had dreamed about once giving you, but…" Mother shrugs slightly and opens the box up.

I peer inside, frowning at the folded piles of white, lacy and gauzy fabrics. I pick them out, and I see what it is. Lingerie.

I stare at the items for a long time, my mind blank, and then the realizations sink in and I'm crying.

Crying tears of sorrow and loss, the loss of innocence that will soon be mine. The loss of a different life than the one I must choose. The loss of everything that could be.

Mother hugs me to her, letting me cry, and she rubs my back in soothing circles, like she used to when I was a child and would wake to nightmares. She smells like lavender perfume and vanilla, and it's that smell that eventually calms me, that centers me, that reminds me why I have to do this.

I have to do this for my mother.

This is my duty.

I have to be strong and accept my fate.

So I pull away from her and wipe my eyes before folding the clothing back into the box and putting the lid on top of it.

"You know how to put those things on, correct?" Mother asks me, even though she knows I don't.

"Yes, ma'am," I say, and she lets my fib slide by because she knows I'm not up to her telling me how to wear it tonight. I can't handle that tonight.

"Clary, I'm so sorry," she says, brushing my hair behind my ears.

I don't respond.

We sit quietly for a few more minutes before my head gets heavy, and I lay down. Mother tucks me in, just like she's done since I was a baby. She hasn't done it in a long time now, but it's as familiar as always.

She sits on the edge of my bed for a few more minutes. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. She knows I'm pretending, but after a while, she sighs and gets up, leaves me be, and turns my light off.

* * *

"Is everyone helping you to your liking?" Valentine asks as he strolls into my bedroom.

The human maids work even more frantically since he's here. They carefully remove my things from the boxes and swiftly put them away, just in the order I've told them to.

I nod at Valentine, giving a polite smile as I smooth down the front of my dress. "Yes. Everyone has been incredibly helpful and efficient—not one thing has been dropped or damaged."

"I'm glad to hear it," Valentine says. "And I hope you'll be glad to hear that the date for the wedding has been set. It will be in a week exactly."

My heart sinks, but my smile remains unwavering on my face. "That is wonderful news—I'm glad to hear it, indeed."  
"Good, good." Valentine glances at one of the prettier maids as she scurries by him, and I feel a little revolted. I'm sure he's taught his son the same tendencies.

"Will your mother be coming?" Valentine inquires, suddenly looking back towards me.

I turn to the suitcase on my bed that holds my socks, and I grab a few pair to busy my hands, so that they do not tremble. "To the wedding?"

"No, today—to help you with the move?"

I put the socks away in the dresser, and I move to grab another pair. "No, I'm afraid not. She's busy today."

"With a client?"

"I didn't ask," I reply.

"I don't mean to pry, of course."

"Of course," I say, offering another fake smile.

"That's a shame about her not being here today." Valentine runs his hand through his white hair, smoothing it back into its dapper style. "Jocelyn is a wonderful woman. An amazing woman."

"That she is," I agree, trying not to look visibly pained.

"You called me?" a new voice inquires, and I glance over to see a tall, slim young woman with jet-black hair pinned into soft curls around her face. She's highly beautiful with a small, upturned nose and full lips and sleepy black eyes framed with thick lashes. I know she must be a Guardian, even before I see the faint lines on her collarbones and hands.

"Ah, yes. Isabelle, I'm glad you're here. Clary, this is Isabelle. Isabelle, this is Clary."

We nod at each other.

"Isabelle is my niece," Valentine says. "And I thought she would be the perfect tour guide for you in the next coming days."

"Will Mr. Lamb no longer be the one showing me around?" I inquire carefully.

"Mr. Lamb is just the help, Clary. You'll need someone much better than him to tell you all you need to know on Guardian society. Isabelle is much better equipped at helping you acclimate, you see."

Isabelle looks at my room with a vaguely bored expression. She looks as thrilled as I am to have her be my babysitter.

"Well, thank you for your consideration," I say.

"Of course. Now, I will leave you two girls alone. I'm afraid I have other things to attend to. Please, excuse me."

I incline my head at him, and then he's gone, disappearing out my room and into the living area.

Isabelle drifts over to one of the many windows in the bedroom that let the afternoon light stream in cheerily. She peers outside. "So. You and Jace are getting hitched, huh?"

"Yes, so it would seem." I pick up a few more socks and put them away. All of the maids have disappeared, gone out into the living room to unpack things there. I suspect it was because of Valentine's presence. They are obviously all terrified of catching his eye, not that I blame them.

"I can't believe he's marrying a Date." She leans against the window and looks over at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's not happy about it."

"Unfortunately, it's the way of the world to not always be happy," I remark.

"I bet you're happy, though. Marrying Jace—I mean, that's a big step up from being a whore—being a Guardian's wife. And Jace is hot, too."

"Isn't he your cousin?" I ask, not bothering to hide the simmering tone of disgust in my voice.

"Yeah, but that doesn't make him any less attractive. I'm a girl. I have eyes. Anyone can make those inferences about him. I hear he's really good in bed, too. That should be interesting for you—or maybe you're used to guys being good in the sack."

"I've never been with a man before," I tell her.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Wow. I thought all you gals had been screwed before."

"I was requested for Jace _because_ of my purity."

"I can see that. He's kind of possessive and jealous about certain things. He probably wouldn't like the idea of his wife ever being with another man. And most boys seem to like that innocent virgin thing—the blushing bride scenario."

I'm nauseated but my face remains stoic as I feel Isabelle's eyes inspecting me, trying to get a reaction out of me.

She makes a "hmph" sound before saying, "You've got a real poker face, you know that? Do they train you to be like that?"

"Dates are supposed to always be poised, so yes. They train me to be like that."

"Do they mean for you to really _always_ be poised, even when you're getting laid?"

I want to wrinkle my nose at her crude terms, but I don't, of course. I just say, "It depends on what the man prefers, I suppose. I've heard that we are supposed to do whatever he likes."

"Do they teach you like bedroom tricks, too? Like certain techniques to get the guy all hot and bothered?"

"I'm sure they do. I have never been taught any of those, though." I've packed all my socks, and now, I have my nylons to put away.

"Why not?" Isabelle inquires, genuinely curious despite herself.

"I didn't want to know," I say guardedly.

"Why didn't you want to know? I'd want to know. Those girls must have a ton of knowledge about that stuff."

I've not been thinking and have let myself slip up, let Isabelle get dangerously close to finding out things better left unsaid, so I just shake my head. "I didn't want to be a Date for a long time. I just recently changed my mind."

"Huh. Well, you better get to learning. Because Jace knows things—and you _don't_. That means he'll hold all the power in the bedroom. Can't have that."

I finally look over at her, my face betraying just a hint of shock. Was she trying to actually give me advice?

She shrugs at me. "I'm just saying. If I were you, I wouldn't like him having that kind of control. He's a control freak, as it is. You could always turn the tables on him." She laughs and snorts a little as she does so. It's highly unladylike and a little bit amusing. "That would really throw him for a loop."

"I suppose it would, wouldn't it?" I murmur, almost to myself.

Isabelle nods and pops a piece of gum into her mouth. Soon, she's smacking away, blowing bubbles every five seconds.

It grades on my nerves.

"You look awful young," she says after a few minutes of popping bubbles and driving me insane.

"I'm sixteen."

"Huh." Isabelle flops down in one of the old chairs in my room, and she sits with her legs held like a boy's, completely uncaring that someone could see her underwear. She's a little bit boyish, I notice now. She's wearing hardly any makeup, and the way she talks… She's very peculiar. "I'm twenty-one—just like Jace. Except I've already been married off. My husband's name is Sebastian. He's crazy about me, though I have my reservations about him. He's a little bit too…clingy, you know? He's pretty good in the sack, but he's always giving me flowers and writing me poems. That kind of stuff makes me want to hurl. I've always liked the bad boys myself, the ones that make no bones about telling me where I can shove if I'm being extra bitchy. I don't like to be kissed up to."  
I blink rapidly at the influx of unwanted information. I'm not sure what to say, so I just nod.

"Jace won't kiss your butt, so that's good. He'll tell you like it is. He'll probably run around on you, too—just giving you a warning. Lord knows his dad runs around on his mom. And Jace is kind of a ladies' man—always has a few girls lusting after him. He gives into one or two of them from time to time. But at least he won't write you mushy poetry and give you heart-shaped chocolates all the time. Puke." Isabelle rolls her eyes.

"That would be horrible," I murmur with barely hidden sarcasm.

Isabelle doesn't seem to pick up on it. She just nods.

I'm left feeling empty and horrible about what's to come—years of being cheated on by a man I don't even love, by a man that will probably be the worst husband imaginable.

I'm living in my own nightmare.

And I'm here willingly.

_For the greater good._

* * *

**Ok. So I know a lot of you are probably absolutely horrified/disgusted by Jocelyn AND Clary. But y'all have to trust me. Things aren't as they seem. Remember the title of this little story? Yeah. Y'all are only getting half the truth at the moment. The other will come with time. Please stick with me. I know it's crappy now and Jace is a butt. But there's a reason for everything! (:  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Here's a little bit more of the feisty Clary I'm sure most of you are rooting for! Finally!**

* * *

Chapter Four

"I met with your cousin Isabelle today," I say, smoothing my napkin into my lap as I situate myself across from Jace.

We are sitting in the same table we sat in a few days ago, at our first dinner, but tonight, Jace is hardly looking at me. He seems bored or distracted or something. Not that I mind. Truthfully, I'm grateful.

"Did you?" he asks dully.

"She's very colorful."

"Isabelle is quite the card," he agrees, brushing his knuckles over his mouth, back and forth, his eyes fixed on nothing across the room. "A thorn in my father's side."

"He was the one that introduced us. He wants her to be my guide throughout the next few days."

"He's probably hoping that some of those manners you have will rub off on Izzy." Jace is still moving his knuckles over his mouth, his eyes blank.

"Was that actually a compliment you paid me?" I inquire deadly.

"No. Manners aren't always a good thing." His hand drops finally, and he looks over at me, the first time in the ten minutes we've been seated. "Why are you doing this, Clary? I asked you before, and I'll ask you again. Why? I know you don't want to. I can't quite figure out _why_, but—"

"Can't figure out why any girl wouldn't be throwing herself at you?" I scoff before taking a dainty sip of wine from my glass.

Jace glowers. "I can't figure out why someone in your social class would be so adverse to moving up. But I know you aren't worried about social class. In fact, despite your politeness, you're nothing but indifferent to all of this." Jace motions around us, to the band, to the chandeliers, to the fifty plus other Guardians dinning in the grand room.

"Is it so shocking to think that I don't want to be sold off like I'm at auction?" I ask calmly, grabbing my fork and knife and cutting a piece of prime rib. "Is it so foreign to you that I would have feelings, too, about being wed to someone I hardly know, nonetheless love?"

"Than why do it?" he asks impatiently.

"I respect my mother, just as you respect your father. That is why we both go through with it."

"I don't respect my father," Jace snaps suddenly, slumping lower in his chair. He resumes looking across the room, rubbing his knuckles roughly over his mouth. "He's a bastard."

"Then why are you following his orders?" I ask, my voice as dull as always, but now I am curious. These are things I wish to know, the things I'm supposed to know. This is progress.

"I follow his orders because he is god around here. He's the head Guardian—don't pretend like you don't know that. He rules over everyone—Guardian and human. If I ever want that title, I follow his rules or he'll find someone else to replace me."

"Is power that important to you?"

"It's the only thing that's important," Jace returns, meeting my eyes again, albeit briefly. "With power, you can do anything."

I shrug indifferently, cutting another piece of Prime Rib.

"Think of if you were in your mother's position—you wouldn't be marrying me or doing anything you didn't want to do."

"Power is more complex than that, I believe," I murmur. "Being in power, you still have to do things you don't want to do. For the greater good."

"Well, fuck the greater good. Fuck anything that makes you cow-tow to anyone else. It's a horrible way to live." Jace is slumping even lower now, anger radiating out of him dangerously.

"You have a rather childish, narrow-minded point of view on life, Mr. Wayland, I must admit."

Jace glares over at me slowly. Furiously. "What did I tell you about your opinions?"

I don't look at him. I just look at my plate as I cut more Prime Rib. I do this just to infuriate him further. "You told me you didn't care to hear my opinion. Frankly, I don't care to hear yours, either—but yet, here you are, giving it. We will be getting married in a week—there's nothing either of us can do about it. But there is one thing that I'm going to do, and that's not be pushed around by you. You set out your expectations of me, and now, I shall do the same. Just because you are above me in social standing does not make you any better than me," I say calmly. "In fact, on what I have seen from your outlooks on life and your manner, you are much more lowly than me—not much more than a spoiled brat pitching a fit over not having his way."

Jace's hands slam down on the table hard enough to make the china rattle. "You shut up," he seethes. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"See. There you go again—throwing a tantrum just because someone is telling you the truth," I say, continuing to cut. I'm cutting faster now, getting nervous, but my voice remains calm and matter-of-fact. "Well, I'm sorry. I've thought of my life following your rules, and I hate to admit that I cannot live that way—seen but not heard. I won't sit idly by and let you run rough-shot over me. It won't happen. It's not who I am, and I think, some part of you must already realize that—that's why you okayed the wedding. You don't want a girl that's going to let you boss her around. You want a challenge. That's just who you are."

"You don't know _anything_ about me," he hisses dangerously, leaning in close to me.

My eyes finally flash up to meet his, and there's cold fury in mine, burning hatred in his. "And you know nothing of me, either. So I'd appreciate you keeping your opinions of what a whore I am to yourself." I let my fork and knife clatter to the plate, and I stand up jerkily. I'm terrified of him, of the way his rage seems to roll off of him in giant waves, of the way he's fisting the table cloth in his hands, barely restraining himself. But I simply say to him, without a quaver in my voice, "I'm taking my leave now."

And I quickly walk away, before he can compose himself enough to stop me without physically abusing me in front of the whole dinning room and making a scene.

* * *

I swipe all the red lipstick off, watching it disappear in the reflection of my vanity. Then I take the cold rag I've wet and rub at my cheeks, at my eyes, taking away the makeup and the paint.

I'm left looking young. Much younger than sixteen.

I look like a child. Innocent. Sweet. But sad, always sad.

Thinking back, I can't remember a time when I haven't been sad. Surely, I must not have always had this look of dull desperation on my face. Surely, I haven't always been so tremendously miserable.

A fat tear rolls down my pale cheek, and I let it run, all the way down until it falls off my jaw and lands against the white cotton of my nightgown.

My new room is quiet, and the nightlights from the city shine in different than they did at my old room.

Contrary to Jace's belief, I did not grow up in a house of whores.

I grew up in a small little apartment with my mother. It wasn't fancy or luxurious, but it was ours. It was completely ours. She worked at a mill, sweeping up floors, so that she could pay for the apartment. Once, I asked her why. She had said because she didn't want the place where I lay my head at night to be paid for by her immoral acts. Even then, she'd been ashamed.

I hadn't understood when I was young why she didn't like the jewels she had, the dresses. I thought her things were so lovely, so precious. But she always looked at them in disgust. And when she'd dress up in them, when she was going out to spend the night with the man that had asked for her company, she'd be especially unhappy.

I finally figured out why, not because she told me but because my neighbor did. He called my mother a whore.

I'd only been ten, but I beat the man so badly that he'd had to go to the hospital. I'd used a baseball bat, and it was only because I wasn't quite strong enough that I hadn't bashed his head in entirely. It hadn't been from lack of rage.

After that, Mother told me what she did. She told me that she was not only a Date but that she was the one that run the house, that decided which girl went to who, which girl had a personality best suited for a certain man or Guardian. Mostly Guardians, though. Dates were too high-priced for mere human men, unless the men worked for the Guardians.

I look at myself now in the mirror and wonder how these Guardians become so corrupted. Surely the stories must be wrong. Surely the Guardians are descent from the demon Invaders themselves—not angels.

I pray angels are not this way—not real angels. I feel in my heart that it can't be true, and I hope I am right.

This is all so very unlike how I thought things would play out when I was ten. I'd been a tomboy then, always wearing britches and a ball cap, always playing with the boys in the park, playing baseball and football—never touch, always tackle. I had been protected from all ugliness in the world, safe. I had thought like everyone else my age did, because the school taught it to us, that the Guardians were good and true, that they watched over us and protected our city from the hordes of demonic invaders beyond.

But as I got older, I saw the unfairness.

I saw that the humans were poor, living in slums, that it was only in the heart of the city, where everything dripped wealth, that the Guardians resided. They didn't take care of us. Maybe they kept the demons out, but they didn't _take care of us_—not in the way we needed.

I saw everything, in shades of gray and gold—the gray being us humans and the gold being the jewels and coin that hung from the Guardians and their pretentiousness.

My mother saw it, too.

She saw it like no other because she was special. She _is_ special. And she has a plan.

I plan I hope I can execute.

Because it all falls on me now.

* * *

**Jocelyn's not the most horrible mother in the world. She's not the pimp y'all believe her to be. Y'all will see.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! I know I said I probably wouldn't update today...but...I couldn't help myself! I will probably update a few more times tonight even though I should be studying for a test I have tomorrow. Oops!**

* * *

Chapter Five

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry!" comes a spluttered response from the boy that has just rammed into me.

The box full of dishes he carries tips over and a few plates almost spill out but he manages to catch them—in a very clumsy, awkward way—and then he sighs, looking down at the ground for a moment before shyly meeting my eyes. His cheeks are bright red. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright," I murmur, startled by the collision. We'd run into each other at the corner of the hall, as we'd both not been paying attention. I eye the boy carefully, him and his dark, short curly hair and big, pretty eyes. He looks like a little boy, though he's much taller than me.

"You…I, ah, haven't seen you before, have I?" he inquires, arching his brows. He hasn't done a once-over of me yet. I notice that he's just looking at my face.

It's refreshing enough that I offer him a slight smile. "No. I'm Miss Clary Fray—new here."

"Clary Fray…" the boy debates for a moment, his mind working and then he nods. "Ohhh. You're Jace's fiancé, right?"

"Yes," I say coolly.

"Good luck with that." The boy seems to blurt this out, and once he's said it, he winces. "I mean—not that anything is wrong with Mr. Wayland. No, of course not. Don't take it like that—because that's not what I meant. What I meant was…you know…uh, good luck with your marriage—nothing to do with Jace—ah, Mr. Wayland."

I listen to the boy's rambling with an amused smile pulling at my lips. "Yes, I'm sure that's what you meant."

He puffs out his cheeks once before letting out a large gust of air. "Sorry. I'm Simon."

"A pleasure, Simon," I say, inclining my chin towards him.

"Uh. You, too," he says, averting his eyes a little.

He's so quaintly awkward that I smile and say, "Do you work here?"

"Yeah," he snorts, rolling his eyes. "I'm the dish cleaner, bus boy, toilet scrubber, butt-kisser—what ever any of them need me to be." He winces again. "I mean, not that the Guardians are, uh, jerks or anything."

I smile again, and the feeling is strange. I don't smile much anymore, not a real smile. This feels real, though I'm not sure. I can't quite remember what a real smile feels like anymore. "Of course not."

"Are you…um, a Date? I mean, that's what I heard. I hope you don't mind my asking."

"I don't," I tell him. "And I suppose I'd be considered a Date, though I've never been purchased for company before. I've simply been asked to be Mr. Wayland's wife."

"Oh. Well, that sucks." Simon blinks rapidly, his cheeks turning red again. "Jesus. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me today. I'm just blurting out crap left and right. Sorry. My mom told me I don't have a filter."

"I find your honesty refreshing, Simon," I reply with a smirk. "It's a very rare trait—not one you should be ashamed of."

"Yeah, well, honesty here can get you thrown out on the street," Simon mutters, kicking at the golden-carpeted floor. He shifts the heavy box of plates in his arms and adds, "So please don't tell anyone I said that stuff, okay? You seem nice—and you're not one of them. At least not yet. You know how it sucks to be without a job in this city."

I look at him, at his cute face and his earnest eyes, and my resolve to do what is necessary becomes stronger. This is what I must do. I must follow my mother's plan. It is imperative that I do.

"Yes, of course. I won't tell anyone, I promise. There's no need for me to."

Simon looks relieved, and it strikes me as a very naive, yet very beautiful, quality—to believe me so easily, just because I've said to trust me. "Thanks, Miss Fray."

"Clary," I correct. And I smile again.

* * *

"This is a lovely room," my mother says.

We stand together in the living area of my penthouse. It is the first time she's been here, the day after I've unpacked.

I look around, slightly disgusted by the wealth of the place. I'd much rather be at home, in the small but cozy apartment my mother worked so hard for. "Yes."

Mother stands by the window, looking out. She's wearing a green suit dress today, looking impeccable as always. Respectable. She always tries to look respectable, even when she's being a man's company for the evening. She's never flaunted her status. She's always been too embarrassed by it.

Her eyes find mine and she smiles. "You're doing wonderful, Clary."

I smile back, but the smile is once again fake. "Thank you," is all I say.

"Knock, knock."

We both turn to the new voice, just as Valentine strolls in from the foyer. I don't like that he has a key, that he can let himself in at any time, but I suppose now is not the time to bring up my reservations about it. Later, I decide.

He's dressed extra debonair today, in a perfectly tailed suit, with an ice blue tie. His hair is slicked back nicely. "Jocelyn, you look as lovely as always. Do you never age?" he inquires, walking closer towards my mother. Embracing her.

I see my mother put on that smile, and it's like looking in a mirror. She hugs him back, delicately and elegantly. "Your compliments never cease, Mr. Wayland."

"Valentine," he corrects. "You've known me for years now. There's no need to stand on ceremony."

Mother pulls away from him and smoothes down her hair. "Of course."

"So, Jocelyn, what do you think of Clarissa's room? Is it to your liking?" he questions, snaking his arm around my mother's tiny waist before turning so that they can survey the room.

Red tinges my vision at the possessive way in which he touches her.

My eyes catch my mother's. She sees the rage there and gives me an imperceptible shake of her head. A warning.

Then she smiles grandly at Valentine. "Oh, yes. It's absolutely stunning! You've spared no expense for my only child, I see."

"Of course not. She is marrying _my_ only child. I must see to it that they are both happy."

"You're so generous," Mother says, and only I can detect the note of falseness ringing in her voice. Only I can see the hatred deep within her eyes. She hates the man whose arm is around her more than I hate him. Her hate is a great ocean to my little river.

"Well, would you like to go see Jonathan now?" Valentine asks.

"Yes, I'm dying to," Mother replies.

So we head for the lavish dinning room. It's evening when we arrive, and the sun is setting in a fiery blaze, lighting the grand room on fire as the band plays passionate music, as if capturing the mood of the dying day in song.

Jace is sitting in the corner table, waiting for us. He's sprawled out in the chair as usual, his face hard and expressionless as he stares out the window walls, the sunlight catching the shimmer of gold in his hair and eyes, setting him ablaze, as well.

When we come to stand at the table, he rises to his feet, offers Jocelyn a smile, kisses her hand, pulls the seat out for her—like a perfect gentlemen. It is disturbing to me how well he can hide his inner atrocity. He learns from the best, apparently, because his father does the same.

"You're as handsome as ever, Jonathan," Mother says when we are seated.

"And you're as radiate as always, Mrs. Fray," he replies.

"Miss," Valentine corrects, a cruel little glint of amusement in his eye at bringing to attention my mother's unmarried status.

Jace simply clears his throat but does not comment further.

"Where is your wife?" I ask suddenly, because I cannot help myself. The way Valentine keeps looking at my mother is wearing my patience thin.

Valentine stiffens visibly as he grabs his napkin from the plate and folds it in his lap. "She is ill today."

Jace makes a small sound, almost like a scoff, and my eyes skip over to him. But he is staring down at the empty plate before him with a blank expression.

"Well, I hope she feels better soon," Mother murmurs, daintily picking up her water glass and taking a small sip.

There's a stiff lull in the conversation until the waiter appears and our orders are taken. Then Valentine begins his boring dinner talk, speaking of trivial things such as the weather and the state of the Wonderer. Mother plays along dully.

Jace and I are both quiet.

Curious, throughout the meal, I peep over at him. He is staring at his plate each time I look over, and his eyes are getting more and more distant, more and more horrified as the time passes.

When the food is brought out, he doesn't touch it, only places his hands on either side of the plate and stares down at the steaming steak before him, staring without seeing.

I notice when his breathing changes, becomes faster and louder. His hands tighten into fists, balling up the tablecloth, and there's this horrible look on his face that makes my heart beat too quickly. Something is wrong with him.

"Jonathan?"

He's snapped out of whatever trance he's been in, and he looks up sharply at his father, across the table, who is glaring at his son.

"Eat," Valentine says.

"I'm not hungry," Jace returns.

"I do hope you aren't feeling poorly like your mother," Mother says politely.

Jace looks over at her, and his voice comes out sharp, dripping an obvious tone, "My mother isn't sick."

"Jonathan!" Valentine growls, glowering at Jace.

Jace glares back for only a moment before dropping his eyes back to his plate. He slumps back into his chair, letting go of the tablecloth, and after a few tense moments, Mother and Valentine's boring conversation ensues again.

I cut up a piece of steak slowly and flick my eyes towards Jace. He looks up suddenly, meeting my gaze, and we simply stare at each other for a long, strange time.

"May I speak with you, Miss Fray?" Jace asks suddenly. Then he glances around the table and adds, "Privately."

I'm tempted to refuse him. He's so odd that I likely expect him to drag me away to hurt me somehow. But something in his gaze is so insistent, and his father is watching me, and my mother is silently pleading with me to obey—just this once.

So I nod carefully. "Of course."

Jace stands swiftly, offers me his arm, and I get to my feet and take it. Then he's leading me out of the room, as quickly as possible without running, and we are going down hall after hall, until he is walking me into a tall, tall rectangular room. It is empty, with marble floors and big white columns on either side, supporting the arched ceiling. There's a wall of windows at the end of the room, and it shows the city below, the mountains beyond, where the sun sets behind them, turning them to dark silhouettes against the contrast of the red-hot sky.

"What is this?" I ask Jace as he lets go of my arm and marches towards the windows.

"It's the front hall of the chapel. Through there is where services are held," he motions vaguely behind us and see the large, double doors that must lead to the altar.

"You have a church here. How ironic," I murmur, to myself, without thinking. I expect a lashing from Jace, but he simply nods.

"Yes," he says softly, his back turned to me as he faces the windows.

"Why did you wish to speak with me?" I inquire carefully, keeping a full ten feet between us. My voice echoes off the high ceiling.

Jace leans forward, resting his hands on the windows, his head tilting forward. "I couldn't stand to be around my father one more moment. I thought that if I asked for your company, he would let me go without a remark."

"So you don't _wish_ for my company?" I say.

"No, I don't."

I nod, strangely relieved. "Very well. I'll leave you then." I start to walk away, my heels clacking on the marble of the floor, seeming to boom throughout the large room.

And then Jace says, "Wait."

I pause, my heart stopping for a moment, expecting a mood shift. But it doesn't come. I simply hear him say, "I'm sorry—for the bruises. On your arm. I didn't…I didn't mean to leave them."

I reach up without thinking to touch the still-tender flesh of my arm, hidden behind the silk sleeves I wear tonight. Then I say, "Don't think of it," before I take my leave.

And I don't bother to figure out where Jace's sudden apology has come from. It's best if I don't.

* * *

**I know this is a strange story so far. I know it's weird and kind of horrible, in the way that Jace and Valentine treat Clary and her mother. But, it gets better. So stick with me please! And let me know how y'all feel! (:**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: LOVING all the reviews! You guys are seriously awesome. WOW! I love getting y'all's opinions on this! So keep the reviews comin' please! And I'll probably update once more tonight! (:**

* * *

Chapter Six

"He's very handsome," Mother says as we stand on the corner, waiting for the car that will take her back to our home—just her home now.

I wish more than anything that I could go with her.

"Yes, he is," I agree because there's no point denying Jace's beauty. But beauty means nothing to me, not when there's something horrible lurking underneath.

The car pulls up, and Mother looks over at me, a sad light in her eyes, as always. She touches my cheek, kisses my forehead, and then crawls into the car. "I love you, Clary."

The driver shuts the door before I can respond, and then he climbs into his seat and begins pulling away.

So I just wave at my mother, telling myself that it is because I had no time that I did not say I loved her, too.

But it has been years since I've said that to her.

And I think it might be years before I say it again.

* * *

I can't sleep.

So I put on my housecoat, and I take the elevator to the top level of the Wonderer. Mr. Lamb told me that the top level was empty save for one staircase—a staircase that led to the roof.

And he was right.

I take the steps and let myself out onto the cool, wind-barraged roof. I shiver in the night air, where the sounds of the city seem far away, far below. I crunch over the gravel of the roof with my bare feet, carefully picking my way towards the wrought-iron railing. Once I'm there, I place my hands on it, feeling the shock of the cold metal run my arms, and I lean forward, looking down at the sharp, sixty-story drop down to the pavement below.

The city is alive tonight, filled with people and honking cars. In the distance, the mountains are quiet and lonely. But maybe they aren't as lonely as they appear. Maybe they aren't as dead as they seem. The demons are probably crawling all over them, waiting. Plotting. Getting ready for a chance to invade what's left of this horrible world.

I feel my tears drying on my cheeks with the wind.

I peep again over the railing.

I'm tempted.

I'm tempted to throw my legs over it and drop. It would feel so amazing, I think. To be weightless. To be free—just for that short moment. Exhilarating. Empowering. To take my life in my own hands.

_Fuck the greater good_.

Jace's words come back to me in a moment of selfishness.

I called him child-like and narrow minded. That was a pitiful point of view on things, after all. But now, standing this high up, dizzyingly high up, I can see what he means. The greater good is hardly ever what you want. It's not what I want for myself.

I lean further over the banister, inhaling the sharp, painfully cold air deep into my lungs, expanding them with it. Adrenaline fills me, zings through my veins.

It'd be easy.

All I had to do was tilt a little further.

And then I'd be flying.

Free.

"Thinking of jumping?"

The drawling voice steals my sudden resolve away, and I jerk back, a little terrified of the drop that now seems so deadly. I glance back, my hair wiping into my face as Jace ambles closer.

"No," I lie to him.

"It's okay if you were," he replies calmly, coming to stand beside me. He grabs the railing, as well, and looks down. "I think about it all the time."

I gasp, and Jace manages to hear it over the roaring wind that now seems deafening.

He looks over at me, his curls flying into his eyes. "Does that surprise you?"

"Yes," I say honestly. "It does."

"It shouldn't."

"You have everything at your feet. Why would you want to jump?" I inquire, yelling to be heard over the frustrated wind.

"I don't have anything, Miss Fray," he says matter-of-fact. He eyes the dizzying drop coolly. "Nothing but the ability to end my own life."

"Then why don't you?" I ask.

Jace's eyes meet mine, and they manage to glow and smolder even without warm light hitting them. Up here, there is only the cool light of the stars to shine on them, yet his eyes still manage to burn hotly. "It would be for nothing if I died up here. I figure, if I'm going to die, it might as well mean something—maybe dying in battle would be better."

"So that you could have a statue in your likeness put up in the city, so that there would be a day set aside for mourning the loss of you and honoring your memory?" I demand.

"Though all of that does hold a certain appeal, I won't jump for my mother's sake."

The statement is so out of character that I come up short, and I can't hide the shock on my face.

Jace is looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and he smirks, victorious in getting a reaction out of me. "Don't look so surprised, Miss Fray. It's hurting my feelings."

"And here I'd thought you had no feelings to hurt," I say.

Jace's smile disappears, his face closing like a door. His eyes dull. "Everyone has feelings, Clary." And with that, he disappears.

* * *

I wake in the morning, wondering if my time on the roof with Jace was a dream.

But when I stand and see the pieces of gravel that I have tracked in, I know it wasn't a dream at all.

"He's not coming."

I jump and look over at Isabelle as she walks up and flops into the chair across from me—the chair Jace is supposed to be sitting in.

We are to eat lunch and dinner together every day until the wedding—preparation, Mr. Lamb has said cheerily. He said that we should get to know each other better.

I don't think we'll ever know each other. And I don't _want_ to know Jace, either. There doesn't seem to be much to know, anyway, besides Jace being anything more than a bastard, but I didn't tell Mr. Lamb any of this.

Now, I'm looking at Isabelle with a dull expression. "Pardon?"

"Jace. He's not coming." Isabelle reaches over and grabs a roll, tears into it with very unladylike manner. "He's with Kaelie."

"Kaelie?" I ask slowly, with a bored tone and a bitter taste in my mouth.

"He has a thing with her. She's another Guardian." Isabelle speaks with her mouth full, and I see chunks of chewed up bread and saliva as she talks.

"Why didn't he marry her, then?"

"Kaelie?" Isabelle laughs—which is just a series of snorts I no longer find very humorous. "No way he'd marry her. She's way too annoying. They only get together to screw, anyway."

"Well, it doesn't seem to me Jace cares _who_ he marries. He's marrying me, and he doesn't even know me. Why wouldn't he choose the person he knows?"

"Valentine would never allow it. Kaelie really gets under his skin." Isabelle rolls her eyes. "She gets under my skin, too. She's so freakin' annoying!"

I roll my eyes internally and think, _She's not the only one_.

"Anyway, I thought I'd hang out with you since Jace bailed."

"Did he tell you he wasn't coming?" I inquire.

"No, he told my brother, Alec. Who told me. And then I decided to tell you. See?"

I give her a look before taking a sip of water, anything to keep myself calm. Isabelle is wearing on my frail patience.

"Will Jace be with Kaelie when we are married, you think?" I ask slowly, turning over the heavy fork on the table.

"Probably." Isabelle shrugs. "I dunno. If I were him, I wouldn't be. I mean—you're a lot prettier than she is. And you're…cooler. I don't know how to explain you. I think Jace likes you, though. He likes a mystery."

"He has an excellent way of showing it," I say deadly, none of my inner anger showing in my tone.

"Oh, that's just his dad. His dad screws everything with girl parts. He gets it honest—Jace does, I mean. Don't blame him."

"Don't blame him?" I laugh once, humorlessly. "Forgive me if I can't get over the idea that a man _can_, indeed, control himself in face of a woman. I never have bought into the notion that boys will be boys, that they cannot help themselves from humping anything that moves."

Isabelle's eyebrows shoot sky-high. "Wow. You're feisty. Jace'll like that, too. I like that myself. There aren't many tough girls here. And the ones that are, well, they get beat down into submission or hidden away—like me! Sebastian is embarrassed of me, even though he's too chicken shit to admit it—and oh, look! There he is now!"

I turn to see the tall, slim and slightly hunched man hastening towards us, looking slightly frantic. "Isabelle, darling! There you are! Why aren't you in your room? You gave me a fright!"

"What did you think happened? I decided to leave you?" she snorts.

Sebastian gives an uneasy laugh. "Oh, darling, you're so funny. Now, let's go back to your room."

"Time for the nightly screwing, huh?" Isabelle sighs and nods, despite Sebastian's spluttering, his eyes darting over to me, his red cheeks. She gets up. "Well, let's go. Like I told you, Clary, he's pretty good in the sack."

I nearly blanch, but I somehow manage to offer a weak smile.

Sebastian looks like he wants to sink through the floor. "I-I do apologize for Isabelle's crudeness."

"It's all right," I assure him.

"Come on," Isabelle says, popping him on the butt, making him jump nearly through the roof. Then she grabs his arm and pulls him away, ignoring the looks of slight disgust and shock that follow her across the room.

I just sigh and resume looking down at the food I have not touched.

* * *

I'm on the roof again.

I stare down at the drop, but I don't feel that delicious feeling of possibility that I had the other night. There's simply nothing now, nothing but the slight tingle in my toes at being so high up.

"Miss Fray."

I ignore the voice, internally groaning. I should have stayed in my room tonight, just in case Jace decided to come out here again.

"I apologize for missing our dinner," Jace murmurs, coming to stand beside me. I see him glance over at me, his eyes roaming up and down my silk nightgown that is barely hidden by my chiffon housecoat.

I pull the flimsy, see-through housecoat tighter around me despite how it does nothing to hide my nipples, which have hardened due to the cold. I'm embarrassed by this, embarrassed by how vulnerable I am to him, but my voice hides my feelings by coming out strong and smooth. "No need to apologize, Mr. Wayland. I understand the need to meet with your whore takes precedence over our tame little dinner."

Jace chuckles and shakes his head. "You are a saucy little thing, aren't you? Isabelle told me you were."

"You spoke with Isabelle?"

"Yeah. She told me that she let it slip to you how I was with Kaelie. So I came out here in hopes of clearing the air with you." Jace is suddenly closer to me, so close that our arms almost touch. "I told Kaelie that we were over."

The ridiculousness of what he is saying makes me laugh—actually laugh, though the sound is far from happy. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid? I'd rather you just be honest with me, Mr. Wayland. I believe there's more honor in being a truthful bastard than a lying one."

Jace grabs me, but this time, he doesn't hurt me. His grip is tight, just bordering on being uncomfortable, but he will leave no marks. I think he's making sure of this.

He holds both of my arms, pulling me close to him, his face leaning down towards mine, his eyes burning livid. "Miss Fray," he says slowly, with a note of fury beneath. His lips almost touch mine as he speaks, and his breath is hot. "Your mouth outruns your brain."

I feel his hand shift, moving between the flaps of my housecoat. His fingers brush the silk of my nightgown between my breasts, and I try to pull away from him. But the grip he has on my other arm is too unrelenting.

"This is not the place for free speech," Jace whispers against my lips. Each soft-spoken word is like the hint of a kiss. I feel his hand move again, over my left breast, and then I feel his thumb graze my hardened nipple through the thin fabric of my gown.

A sharp gasp bursts free from my lips as some strange and foreign, tingling feeling shoots through me like a bolt of lightening.

"You best watch your step here, Miss Fray," Jace says, and then he kisses me—just a light press of his lips against mine—before he leaves me swaying in the hard wind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: OK. Let me just remind y'all how awesome y'all are... Y'ALL ARE AMAZING! AH! Thanks so much for all the feedback and support. Please keep it coming! Oh, and because I'm in a write-y mood tonight and because y'all have been so supportive, it has sparked a lot of inspiration and I will post one more chapter for the night after this one so stay tuned! (;**

* * *

Chapter Seven

I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror.

I'm wearing my wedding dress. It's perfectly white, of course, and silk crepe with a Kimono cape style top and a quilted waist band. A full bias cut skirt drapes across the floor behind me and hugs my curves subtly. The neckline forms a V that does not dip very low at all, and the short sleeves are loose and lacy, brushing my arms like soft whispers.

"You look beautiful," Mother says.

"I think she looks too sweet—not at all sexy." Isabelle's contribution comes from her spot on the couch in my living room. She's got her legs kicked up on the armrest like a boy.

"You are not supposed to look sexy in your wedding gown, Isabelle," Mother says, an amused tilt to her lips.

"Well, at least but her in something that's more form-fitting. That just makes her look like a little girl in a nightgown."

I stare blankly at the mirror, but I do believe Isabelle might be right. Not that I care, though. I just want to get this off of me as soon as possible. I want this wedding to be over with.

"Hello?"

We all turn to see a beautiful, frail woman peep into the living area from the foyer. She has hair of pure gold, which tumbles around her shoulders in perfect, unpinned curls, and her face is pale, open and young despite the old knowledge of her eyes.

Mother instantly busies herself with cleaning up her hemming things.

"May I help you?" I inquire of the gorgeous, small woman.

"I'm Celine," she says, drifting into the room carefully. She only wears a white nightdress that seems to swallow her whole. "Jace's mother. I would like to introduce myself to you formally," she murmurs, and her voice is indeed, very formal. Cold and whisper-soft. "I apologize for not seeing you sooner. I have been…under the weather."

"There's no need for apologies, Mrs. Wayland," I say, offering a polite smile. "I do hope you feel better now."

"I feel a little better, thank you." Her smile is brittle, her eyes watery. "And please, I insist you call me Celine."

I nod at her.

"Aunt Celine, tell Jocelyn that the dress is too childish," Isabelle cries.

Celine's eyes flicker over to my mother, who is still focusing on putting her hemming tools away. Celine's already pale face drains even further, making her look corpse-like. "I believe the dress is very lovely," she says, her voice like a hollow rasp.

"You're just saying that," Isabelle grumps, crossing her arms angrily.

"I must get going. Clary, let me help you out of the dress in the bathroom so that you don't jar any pins loose. Come on," Mother rushes, helping me off the stool and into the en suite bathroom.

I look at my mother in the reflection of the mirror that runs the wall as she lifts the dress over my head. I know my mother's haste to leave has everything to do with Celine's appearance. I know that my mother has been with Valentine since his marriage. The pieces fall together in sickening perfection.

"Thank you," I tell my mother once she's helped me into my day dress.

She finds my eyes in the mirror, and a watery smile briefly crosses her face. "Of course, honey."

Then she leaves. Isabelle walks her out, because I have a suspicion that Guardians don't trust any humans to walk the upper floors of the Wonderer alone.

It leaves Celine and I alone.

I smile at her coolly. "It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, hoping she will decide to leave now.

But she doesn't. She just hugs her arms close to her chest and looks out at the window. She appears so lonely and small that I pity her. And I wonder if this is what I will look like after a few years of marriage to Jace. "Clarissa—that's your full name, is it not?"

"Yes," I say.

"It's a very lovely name. Very lovely." She almost speaks to herself, a low murmur. I catch her rubbing her knuckles lightly across her bottom lip—a trait I've seen Jace do, as well. "I hope you won't mind if I call you Clarissa? I just think it's so lovely that it needs to be spoken often."

"You may call me whatever you wish," I reply softly.

She looks over at me, her gray eyes catching mine. Her eyes are big and beautiful, but in an entirely different way than Jace's. I wonder where his eyes come from, seeing as his father's are as black as night. "You're a beautiful girl, Clarissa. You seem kind, too. There's something…something in your eyes." She motions vaguely, drifting towards me like a ghost. She reaches out, almost as if she'll touch me, but she pulls her hand back rather suddenly, almost shyly. "I apologize. When I don't feel well, I tend to act a bit strangely."

"You're not acting strangely," I lie, trying not to take a step back from her.

Celine simply gives a tiny smile that shows me she sees through my fib. "Clarissa, I am a Guardian—full blooded. I was not raised in your situation, but I do know what it is like to be given away, betrothed to someone you do not know." She walks back towards the window, looking out of it. The cool winter light seems to dull her even more. She is like shades of silver moonlight, despite her golden strands of hair. "It's such a horrible feeling, as though you're trapped—unable to get free. When I was told I'd marry Valentine, grief consumed me. But with time, it lessens." She turns faces me again and offers a weak smile. "Especially when you have a child."

My stomach revolts at having Jace's child, of carrying it and birthing the thing. I will not allow this to happen.

But Celine doesn't know this and she moves closer to me, her face becoming just slightly more animated as her sing-song, poetic voice lilts. "To hold that little creature in your arms for the first time—to know that it is _yours_. That you carried it and gave birth to it, to know that you held that tiny soul inside you. It's the most beautiful thing in the world, Clarissa. So, so beautiful. My Jace was the most perfect baby I've ever seen—and I know I am a little biased—but he was just gorgeous. A few wisps of golden hair. And when he opened those bright, beautiful gold eyes—I just melted. And I knew." Celine nods slowly, her eyes finding mine and holding them tightly. As if she is trying to say something very important. "I just _knew_. He was special."

I smile, but the motion is jerky and weak. I barely hold on to it, nonetheless make it convincing.

But Celine doesn't notice. She just drifts away in her own world and nods again. "Yes, Jace is special. You know that, too, don't you?" And before I can answer, she gives a cryptic smile and leaves me.

* * *

There's a knock on my door just as I've emerged from my bath and put on my slip. I grab a housecoat and drift over, ready to glance out the peephole and most likely see Isabelle.

But before I can, the door swings open.

I gasp and pull my housecoat tight when I see Jace. "What is the point of knocking if you don't wait until I open it?" I demand sharply.

Jace smirks. "To warn you of my impending presence."

I glower. "What are you doing here?"

"Walking you to dinner."

"That's not necessary."

"But it is."

I sigh at his stubborn, unmoving tone, and I motion at myself. "I'm not ready."

He shrugs, unfazed. "I'll wait."

I refuse to show any more emotion, so I just turn on my heel and walk back towards my bathroom. I feel Jace follow me, but I ignore him.

Once I'm in front of the mirror, I start the task of putting on my face. I do everything extra slowly, just to bother Jace, but he simply stands beside me, leaning his hip on the counter, watching me work.

My plan ultimately backfires because he watches me so intently that it makes me nervous, and finally, I glare over at him. "Why don't you go sit in the living room while I finish up?"

"I'm fine here. Thank you," he says, polite but with a smirk that the devil himself could not outdo.

I want to slap him. Maybe punch him. Perhaps I would like to find a baseball bat and do him in like I did that old man that called my mother a whore. I had quite the temper as a child, and I feel it returning, bubbling up inside me.

But I know Jace is hoping, praying, for a reaction. So I turn back to the mirror and begin swiping deep red lipstick on my lips, making them even fuller than usual.

Jace watches me do this step especially close. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" I inquire without looking at him. I lean closer into the mirror and wipe delicately at the small spot I've gotten out of line with.

"Paint your face up like that."

"It makes me look older."

"Most women would kill to look younger."

"I have a very young face without makeup," I explain, putting the lipstick away. I fluff up my hair and pin the right side back with a pearl hair comb. "I don't like looking younger than I already am."

"So it gives you a feeling of strength," he assumes.

I pause and turn my neck so my face is close to his. I level my gaze with those pretty gold eyes and say, "I need no help feeling strong. Despite what you may believe, Mr. Wayland, I'm plenty strong."

A slow half smile spreads across his mouth. He's turned now so that his back is towards the mirror, but our faces are still close together. "And despite what you believe, I've yet to doubt that, Miss Fray." He reaches up, touches my jaw with the very tips of his fingers, and he draws a line down to my chin, where he grips me gently.

Our eyes meet, and his are so hot and bright—almost too bright to look at, as if they glow. I'm trapped by them, fascinated on some strange level, wondering if it is his angelic blood that gives his eyes such a spark of fire.

And then, before I realize it, he's kissing me.

His lips are just as hot as they were last night, but there is no gentle, quick pressing of mouths this time. This time, he truly kisses me. Demanding yet slow, igniting a flame that grows steadily as our lips meld.

I have no idea what comes over me, how my lips seem to know how to move against his. It is primal, I suppose. Instinctual.

But it doesn't make it any less wrong and horrible.

I break the contact of our mouths quickly, looking back towards the mirror, and saying, with a little note of breathlessness in my voice that I detest, "You're smearing my lipstick, Mr. Wayland."

His lips are at my ear, and I shiver when I feel his exhale of laughter. "I apologize, Miss Fray." Then he moves behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder. His hands move and brace himself against the counter, holding him up as his eyes find mine in the mirror. The glow from his eyes seems to have spread, and it hurts to look at him. "You pretend to be so cool and frigid." He turns his face into my neck, his lips brushing my pounding artery, but his eyes never leave mine. "But I know you're not. I see it in your eyes."

He nips gently at my pulse, and I jump despite myself, my heart lurching. And he just exhales another soft laugh against my goose-bump skin. He kisses my temple and then removes himself. "I'll wait outside for you." He lets his hand fall on my hip and trail across my lower back as he walks away.

And then I'm left alone, and I stare at myself in the mirror, at my wide, dilated eyes and my smeared lipstick.

And I think this cannot happen.

But it must.

* * *

**Ok, so I just copy and pasted the description of the dress down from the website. I did that for any fashionistas that may be reading, but if you're like me and you have no clue what any of that means, this is the website I saw the dress on: . . Check it out if you're interested, or if you're not, just know that Clary's dress is really, really pretty! (:**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hm. I have noticed that Clary's wedding dress link did not paste properly. Now that I'm thoroughly embarrassed, I will say that y'all just need to trust me on its beauty. I could copy and paste the link in my bio, I suppose, but that's too much trouble and it would just be silly by now. Anyway, Google 1940's wedding dresses and you'll get a taste of what her dress looks like. And now, on to the last update of the night! Enjoy and review, pretty please! (:**

* * *

Chapter Eight

It's my wedding day.

The days have ticked by quickly, and now, the day of horror is upon me.

Jace and I have spent the past few days uneventfully eating dinner, rarely talking. The closer are day of matrimony has approached, the most distant he's gotten.

He hasn't kissed me again, and for this, I am utterly thankful.

But now, as I look at myself in my wedding gown, at Mother touches up my hair, I think of tonight. Of how he will do much more than kiss me. And I think I'll be sick.

"Clary," Mother says to me, catching my eye in the mirror. "I've put some things in your bathroom drawer—for tonight." She winks, and it would appear to Isabelle or any of the maids that may be watching, that my mother has given me some sort of lingerie or something seductive to use on my wedding night.

But I know better.

I nod and offer her a small smile, relief coursing through me. At least I will not get pregnant tonight. That is the only slight reprieve I have.

* * *

Everything happens in a blur.

I realize belatedly by a passing remark made by Isabelle that the whole Guardianship will be here for the wedding. It adds an element of nervousness that I did not anticipate.

Nervousness. Disgust. Fear. Horror. Panic. Entrapment.

Everything I feel whirls inside me sickeningly.

I don't think I can do this.

But somehow, I do.

* * *

When I'm led down the aisle by Mr. Lamb, I am momentarily shocked.

The chapel is much more beautiful than I could have imagined. It is dizzyingly tall, with an arched, clear-glass ceiling that allows a view of the glittering stars above us, and the huge panes of stained glass let in a multitude of colors that light the faces of hundreds of Guardians as they watch me move down the aisle.

I quickly recover from my shock, and I hide my panic at all eyes being on me well. And then I'm beside Jace, in front of a Guardian priest whom is decked out in golden robes, holding the Holy Book.

I feel sweat gathering on the nape of my neck as the priest begins to read.

I feel my heart slowly pumping, each beat reverberating through my body.

I feel my lungs constrict and burn.

I feel my chest refusing to move, to take in air.

I feel as if I'm dying.

In a way, I suppose I am.

"She's beautiful, Jonathan," a hulking man says in a deep voice, nodding seriously.

Jace and I sit side by side in the ballroom, which has been even more beautifully decorated in honor of our wedding.

I wish to burn the whole place to the ground, along with this man who is congratulating Jace as if I were a prized cow he won.

"Thank you," Jace replies, shaking the man's hand before he disappears into the masses of Guardians doing the waltz to the band that is playing on stage.

"You do look beautiful."

I glance over at Jace, finding his eyes to already be searching mine out. I look at him deadly. He's my husband now. I don't feel as nervous as I did before, nor do I feel as panicked. I'm trapped now, and there's something numbing about it being final. There's no more chance of freedom or escape, and that, in turn, has become my escape. A way to focus on what is important now.

"Thank you," I say. "You look handsome."

He does. It's not a lie. In his tuxedo, he gets more looks from women than I get from men.

It doesn't make him any less repulsive in my eyes.

He just exhales a laugh and shakes his head because he knows I'm being exceptionally fake tonight. He digs a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. He takes a few drags off of it before squinting at me. A cloud of smoke billows from his lips. "Want to dance?"

"Hardly," I scoff, crossing my legs and sitting my hands atop my knee daintily.

"Let me rephrase then. Dance with me."

I look over at him coolly. "I don't respond well to demands, Mr. Wayland."

"And I don't respond well to rejection, _Mrs. Wayland_." He smirks at my obvious discomfort with the term, and then stands, offering his hand. "Come on. We have to dance. It's a tradition."

"One that obviously needs to be discarded," I say.

Jace puts out his cigarette and then gives me a dark look that's a little playful, too. "Come on, Mrs. Wayland. I'm not waiting all night."

"I will dance with you if you stop calling me that," I reply, slowly standing.

"That's your name."

"My name is Clary."

"All right, _Clary_," he drawls, giving me a devious little smile. "Let's go."

I take his hand unenthusiastically, and he pulls me to the dance floor before beginning to spin me around. He's a flawless dancer, which is to be expected given his training. I am just as good, though, which obviously surprises him, though he doesn't comment on it.

My mother taught me to dance when I was a little girl, due to my begging and pleading. We would stand in the one-room apartment we lived in, and we would dance for hours, giggling and humming our own, made-up music.

I sigh softly as Jace dips me.

"You seem extra glum tonight," Jace murmurs, his face close to mine as my world tilts.

"Marriage to you has that affect," I reply, giving a sweet smile.

Jace just chuckles, the insult running off of him like water. I wonder why he seems cheery tonight, despite our now legal and holy binding. A suspicious part of me wonders if he is enlightened by the prospect of stealing away my virginity tonight. I don't doubt this to be above him.

"You seem suspiciously happy," I announce as he pulls us back into an upright position.

"I've gotten word that I will be leaving for the 12th border tomorrow afternoon—ready to go into a battle. The Invaders are trying to break into our fair city."

"And this pleases you?" I ask dully as we spin around the large room.

"Yes. Going into a fight always pleases me."

"And here I thought you couldn't get any worse," I say.

Jace's hands tighten on me just a little, his smile still in place but something angry lurking underneath. He spins me once more to the grand and lovely song, and then, when he pulls me back close as the final note quivers in the air, he puts his lips at my ear and says, "Tread lightly, my love."

The song ends, and everyone erupts into applause. I notice for the first time that the people have parted, formed a circle around us as we dance, and now they clap for us.

So both Jace and I plaster smiles on our faces and nod at them, all the while my heart turning cold inside me.

* * *

"Are you afraid?"

I stare at Jace in the full-length mirror in my room. He's standing behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist and his chin resting on my shoulder. There's a smirk on his lips but a curious light in his eyes.

"No," I say.

"You're lying," he accuses with a wrinkle of his nose and smile.

"Let go of me. I have to change," I say, pushing his hands off me and drifting into the bathroom, where I must put on the horrible lingerie my mother gave me.

I shut the door tightly between us, ignoring the sweat on my palms and the pounding of my heart.

The previous numbness I've felt has deserted me now, in my greatest time of need.

I look at myself in the mirror and wonder how I will get through this. Just a few days ago, I had my first kiss with a man I despise. And tonight, I will lose my virginity to the same monster.

I slowly put my things on, piece by piece, deliberately. It's a complex get-up, but one that looks simple and slightly angelic when finished. I'm too look pure and sweet. Yet wanting, as evident by how much of my skin shows through the sheer panels of fabric. Ready to be corrupted.

My hand shaking, I reach down for the correct bathroom drawer. I open it, and I find the small white pill my mother has left for me. I take it with water from the faucet, and as I feel it slide down my throat, I am slightly comforted.

No child will be conceived tonight. Never.

I walk back outside, to my bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind me and leaning against it slightly.

Jace is sitting on the corner of my bed, pulling at his tie. He glances up when I step into the room, despite my entrance being silent, and his eyes move over me. Slowly. Taking in every detail.

My skin crawls.

My face remains stoic.

"Come here," he says softly.

I do, my feet somehow managing to carry me towards him, until I am standing between his legs. His eyes graze over my exposed skin, his hands come up to rest against my hips. He leans in, pressing his face to my stomach, his hot breath contrasting against my cool skin.

"You look so perfect," he says against the fabric covering my stomach. And then he's standing, his nose skimming me all the way up, until he's grabbing my hair and tilting my head to the side, so that he can brush his lips across my jaw. "You're shaking."

I don't realize I am until he mentions it, and now, the trembles get worse.

I feel Jace laugh softly against my neck, and just before I can call him out on being such a heartless bastard, he says, "You really think I'm going to take you tonight, don't you?" and then I register the note of disbelief that laugh held.

I jerk away from him slightly, so that I can look up into his eyes, a frown settling across my face. Hope rises in me, but I'm too suspicious to let it overwhelm me. "You aren't?"

Jace is looking at me but not in my eyes. His gaze seems to be focused on my forehead as he looks wistful and says, "No, not tonight." He smoothes his hand down my neck, and the skin of his palm is rough and calloused against me. "It's not time yet. I want to wait until you're asking for it." His hand finds the hair at the nape of my neck again and pulls my head back gently, exposing my throat to him as he whispers into my ear, "Until you're begging for it."

"Don't hold your breath," I say.

Jace just laughs, as if this is all a game to him. Maybe it is.

He releases me rather suddenly, and I almost stumble backwards. Then he leans in close to me, putting only our lips close, as he says, "Goodnight, Clary. I hope to see this," he pauses to tug at the bottom hem of my short little gown, "again."

Then he walks away, and just before he leaves me, he calls back to me, "Pleasant dreams, Mrs. Wayland."

Then he truly is gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: First update of many today! (:**

* * *

Chapter Nine

Without Jace at the Wonderer, I quickly find I stay in my room most of the time. Previously, I had been forced out twice a day so that I could eat with him, and now, with him off in the 12th border, there's no one in the hotel that I am forced on.

Except Isabelle, who comes by daily and sits on my couch and talks to me while I attempt to read. She's done that every day, for the three days in a row that Jace has been gone.

Including today.

"I just can't believe you guys haven't screwed yet," she says, examining her fingernails as she lounges back on the couch, her legs tossed over the side.

"Yes, quite the shocker," I murmur, barely hiding my irritation.

"Why haven't you? I mean—it's you right. Jace would probably be up for it—no pun intended." She snorts her laugh at her ridiculously disgusting joke.

"I don't intend to talk with you on such things."

Isabelle frowns and sits up in the chair like a proper lady. She looks suddenly upset, nervous maybe, as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Clary?"

"What?" I ask slowly, peeping up at her from over the top of my book.

"Do I…do I really get on your nerves? I do, don't I? I get on everyone's nerves, I guess. Even Sebastian—though he's too much of a pansy-ass to ever tell me so." Isabelle looks down at the hem of her dress and picks at it. "I don't really know how to act…right. My mom isn't around much, so she never taught me things, like how to fix my hair and which forks to eat with." She looks up at me again. "But you know how to be the perfect girl. I was just…I just hoped maybe you could tell me how to be more girlie, too. I get tired of always sticking out."

Carefully, I place my book in my lap and level my gaze with hers. "Isabelle, I'm hardly the perfect girl."

"Well, you always look it. And you act so nice and cool." She sighs and falls back into the couch, her legs spread like a man's. "I don't know. I guess I just hoped you'd rub off on me."

I stare at her for a moment, my mind working. Surely I can't help Isabelle. She is disgusting. Horribly rude. Hideously crude. Unimaginably boyish.

She is obviously beyond help.

Yet, I find myself standing and sighing, as if I've made some great decision—without my mind even knowing.

"The first thing is sitting properly," I say, shocking myself. I drift over to Isabelle, sitting beside her on the couch, except my form is impeccable—back straight, knees together, ankles crossed, hands resting daintily in my lap. "Like this. Not with your legs sprawled out like a boy's. You look like Jace when you do that."

"I learned everything from Jace," she defends.

I arch my brows. "Pardon?"

"From Jace and Alec both, really. They taught me how to fight. And how to sit. And belch. Want to hear?"

"No," I say. "Isabelle, that's very unladylike, not to mention rude."

"But it's funny."

I roll my eyes and stand up. "I tried."

"No, wait!" she exclaims quickly. And then she tries to mimic the pose I demonstrated to her. She looks awfully stiff and awkward, like she's sitting on pins and needles rather than gracefully resting.

I almost smile, but I catch myself and simply nod. "That's a start."

* * *

I walk back from Mr. Lamb's office with the radio in hand, smiling at it softly yet wondering how this will work.

And then, when I see a familiar boy drifting past me, I halt and spin towards him. "Simon! Simon?"

He stops, turns back, and looks at me with wide, slightly hesitant eyes. "Mrs. Wayland?"

"Clary, please," I insist, trying not to visibly blanch. Then I eye him up and down. Yes, he'd do. I nod, pursing my lips. "Do you think you could do me a favor?"

Simon's eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a startled squeak of laughter. "Me? What could I possibly do?"  
"Are you free for the next hour or so? I'm undertaking a project and need your assistance," I say vaguely.

Simon looks a little worried, but he smiles nonetheless. "Of course." Then he adds, a little tiredly, "Whatever you need."

"No need to be so glum," I tell him, grabbing onto his arm and walking him back to my room. "This is a fun project—no scrubbing toilets for you, darling."

* * *

"Dance with her?"

Simon is looking at Isabelle in undisguised shock and maybe even slight horror.

I nod slowly. "Yes. Dancing. It's very easy. Isabelle doesn't know how. I'm endeavoring to teach her."

Isabelle sits a little stiffly on the edge of the couch, but she is looking less ridiculous by the day. It's taken almost a half a week to get her sitting properly, but here she is.

"I…I can't. Mrs. Wayland—"

"Clary," I interject, my voice rising just slightly.

"Sorry. Uh, _Clary,_ I can't dance."  
"Well, then it will be learning experience for both of you," I say with a cool smile. "Stand up, Isabelle."

She moans like a child, and I glare pointedly. She hops up, cutting herself off mid-groan, and then I sigh. "Don't stand up _like that_."

"How else am I _supposed_ to stand up?" she demands, crossing her arms. She's gotten more and more irritable towards me the last few days. "You know, when I said I hoped you rubbed off on me, I didn't really mean that I wanted you to treat me like a school child."

I put my hands on hips simply. "No? Then leave. I don't have to do any of this. In fact, I'd much rather be reading, myself."  
We stare at each other for a long, tense moment. I see Simon out of the corner of my eye fidgeting.

"Fine!" Isabelle booms, throwing up her hands and walking over towards Simon—whom looks like any moment, he may bolt.

"Excellent," I say, smiling. Pleased. "First, I'll teach you the waltz."

* * *

A new schedule appears.

Isabelle comes to my room every afternoon between one and two, and Simon joins us between two and three. I teach her etiquette, and then I teach them dancing.

It's strange, finding myself in a teacher's position. My whole life, my mother has taught me. Taught me how to be a lady that holds herself with poise yet mystery and seduction. Taught me how to walk so that I can have all men's eyes on me when I sashay through the room. Taught me how to have secrets and hold them dear.

Now, I teach Isabelle. It's a role that comes naturally to me, being the leader. I actually begin to enjoy myself a little as the days pass into weeks.

Simon is a lovely boy. He's polite, but a little strange. Brutally honest even though there's not a mean bone in his body. He has a wonderfully odd little talent of saying exactly what's on his mind, without one ounce of filtering. It's a trait that has become foreign to me, his child-like honesty. It's a trait that I have come to admire.

Isabelle proves to not be as horrible as she first appeared. She is still rather manly and loud and crude, but she isn't just repulsive to me anymore. And she cleans up nicely, as evident now, as she stands before me in a purple silk dress that hugs her slim frame tightly and bells out at her ankles, giving her the appearance of more curves.

"It's tight," she complains.

"It's beautiful," I tell her.

She waddles awkwardly to the mirror, not used to the constricting skirt, and she peers at herself. "It is kind of pretty."

I come to stand next to her, a contrast in every way. I am short, busty, curving dramatically at the hips, where she is tall and long, lean. Her black hair is pinned back at the sides, curling loosely and falling around her shoulders. My scarlet red hair is pinned up today, soft curls framing my face. But we are both smiling in the reflection, smiles of equal pride.

"Thanks, Clary," she tells me.

I nod, my smile slipping away and my face returning to a cool, indifferent mask. "You're welcome."

Isabelle turns towards me, takes my face in her hands, and pressing a big kiss to the top of my head, making me wince. "I'm going to go wow Sebastian when he gets back! See ya!" She then begins waddling away.

I clear my throat. "Isabelle, walk in small steps."

She throws her arm at me in agreement. "Sure, yeah! Bye!" And then she's gone, leaving me to smile slightly and shake my head.

I inhale slowly, thinking of how, soon, Jace will be back. It's a thought that fills me with dread and nerves.

So I go into my bathroom and soak in a hot bath for a long time, until my fingers are pruned, and I'm forced to get out and dress. I pick a deep emerald pencil dress with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. It hugs me tightly, and I have to fidget with it for a few minutes before I've gotten it situated just right.

Then I start for my living room, prepared to spend the last few hours of peace reading. But my hours of peace have already come to a halt.

I gasp and place my hand to my chest in shock as I see Jace lounging on my couch, his head bent over the book I've been trying to finish for the past week.

He glances up at me from underneath his lashes, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes flicker over my dress, all the way down to my peep-toe sling-backs and then back up to my own eyes.

I'm stunned a moment by his golden irises, being unaccustomed to them for so long.

I quickly gather my senses and smooth my hands over my dress. "I see you let yourself in."

Jace shrugs. "I knocked but there was no answer."

"I was taking a bath," I murmur, walking across the room to put away the trunks of clothes I had out for Isabelle's lesson today.

"Hate I missed it," is Jace's response.

I simply huff, my heels clacking across the floor. "You seem to have come out of battle unscathed."

"_Relatively_ unscathed," he says. "I have a few new scars."

"Hm," I say in a bored tone as I shut a few of the trunks and lock them.

"Unfortunately, though, the battle was less exciting than I had hoped," Jace adds, and I hear him stand up.

"What a shame," I say.

And then he's behind me, suddenly and silently, making me jump as his hands come up and brush over my shoulders, his fingers hooking into the tops of my sleeves and jerking them down roughly, so that my skin is exposed to his warm lips.

"Will you come swim with me tonight?" Jace asks, his hot breath washing over the area where my shoulder and neck meet.

"No," I say, glad that my voice doesn't shake.

"Why not?" he inquires, skimming his lips up my pounding pulse. I know he can feel how hard my heart is beating there. That's why I feel his mouth pull up into a smile. And it makes me furious.

But I'm more furious at myself, at the way I cannot seem to control my body's reaction to his proximity. It's just because I've never been so close to a man before, just because I am a sixteen-year-old girl, and these feelings are instinctual.

But they still make me feel weak.

"I won't go because I have the sneaking suspicion that you will spend the entire time trying to seduce me in my state of slight undress. Not to mention the fact that I don't like you," I say.

"Don't feel you're strong enough to say no?" Jace's left hand moves over my shoulder, smoothly across my collarbones, his calluses rubbing against my soft skin, and then down, dipping into the front of my dress dangerously.

I grab his wrist deftly, spinning in his embrace so that I can level my serious gaze with his teasing one. "It has nothing to do with my strength and is entirely due to the fact that I don't desire your company any longer than absolutely necessary."

Jace twists the wrist I have in my hold until our fingers intertwine. Then he's leaning into me, his lips almost touching mine as he smiles slightly. "I will behave myself, I promise."

"You certainly aren't behaving yourself now," I manage to say without a hitch in my voice. But I'm leaning away from him, feeling slightly dizzy.

He nips at my bottom lip, making me gasp once. And then he's pressing me forward suddenly, my lower back slamming into one of the trunks, trapping me between him and it.

The hand not gripping mine falls against my hip and squeezes roughly, making me bite down on my bottom lip to keep from making a sound.

I'm suddenly acutely aware of the throbbing between my legs, and the feeling has never been so intense before, so completely overwhelming. It's terrifying.

"Meet me at pool on the twenty-fourth level in two hours," Jace says against my mouth in my moment of weakness. "I promise I won't try anything." He acts as if he's going to kiss me, ghosting his lips over mine, but he never does.

He just leaves me waiting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Probably one more update after this one! (: Enjoy and review please! (;**

* * *

Chapter Ten

I have many bathing suits, but I pick my most modest to wear tonight—a one piece with a little skirt and a plunging sweetheart neckline. It emphasizes my curves to the extreme, but it's the only suit that covers so much of me—that's why I choose it.

I make Jace wait thirty minutes before I make my way to the twenty-fourth floor. I thought about not going at all, but then I realized he would have most likely just hunted me down and dragged me to the pool anyway.

I walk down the hallway and find the correct room. This isn't one of the pools Mr. Lamb showed me on the first day tour, and when I walk inside, I wonder why.

It's stunning.

Absolutely _stunning_.

The pool is massive, so large that it goes into another room. I follow it, walking out into the second room, the grandest room of all. One wall is made up mostly of windows, giving an unhindered view of the starry sky and mountain range beyond. The lamps along the pool's edge are golden and warm, shinning on the unbroken, inky surface of the water, and on the cool, alabaster statues of Roman gods that line the walls.

I drift to the edge of the pool, staring down at the shimmer of golden tiles below the surface. I'm amazed.

"Clary."

I jump and gasp, turning towards Jace as he strolls in, wearing nothing but some low-hanging swim trunks. As I knew he would, he has a perfect body, one that is lean but cut and defined from fighting and training. The faint, almost white lines of swirling religious text twirl over his torso and arms, looking almost blending in with the few scars he has.

"Sorry I'm running late," Jace says, dropping a stack of towels on one of the high backed chairs that line the room.

"No need to apologize. I've just arrived myself." I pull my little cover-up tighter around me.

Jace begins walking towards the windows, towards the deep end of the pool, before he stops and glances over at me. The warm lighting makes the golden tones of his skin and hair shimmer and glow, making him look otherworldly, which I suppose, he is.

"I'm glad you came," he says, a little cryptically and suddenly, before he smiles and then jumps off into the water. The splash echoes through the arched ceiling of the room.

While he's under, I carefully remove my cover-up and ease towards the steps. I touch my toe into the water. It's the perfect temperature, not too cool, not too hot, so I step in to my ankles and then to my knees before deciding just to plunge on in—careful, though, not to wet my hair.

Jace emerges, shaking out his curls, sending water everywhere. Then his eyes find me, his lips just barely skimming the surface of the water. Any lewd comments I expect from him don't come, and he simply remains silent as he watches me, a curious look in his eyes that I can't decipher.

I quickly search for a topic of conversation, to break the quietness around us. "I trust your mission went well?"

"Yes," Jace says, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Our plan worked flawlessly. The demons were pushed back, as usual."

I nod, moving my arm through the water, letting the liquid rush over my skin like silk. Silence descends around us again until I can think of something else to say. "Your mother seems very frail. What plagues her?"

At this, Jace looks away from me. He glances at one of the Roman statues, his jaw feathering as he swipes water from his mouth. "Having a rotten husband—that's what plagues her."

I tilt my head. "You really hate your father so?"

"No." Jace's eyes find mine again, his expression hard and his eyes narrowed in thought. "I respect him in many ways, in the way he keeps order and runs the Guardianship. But I detest him in other ways, as well."

"In the way he cheats on your mother?" I inquire softly.

"Yes." Jace's voice is cool and even, but I hear the tone of loathing beneath.

"And yet the general consensus seems to be that you will be unfaithful to me, as well, if you have not already."

Jace's eyes snap to meet mine, and he glares hotly. "I have not been unfaithful to you—nor will I. Don't believe everything you hear."

I purse my lips curiously and smooth my hand over the surface of the water, watching its progress as it raises ripples. "Hm. You would be faithful to me—a girl you don't even know? It seems a bit of a stretch, especially given your history."

"My _history_," he grinds out, "is only that I have been unable to stay with one girl for a long amount of time—nothing to do with cheating. I will not cheat on you because I will _not_ be like my father in that way. I've seen firsthand what it's done to my mother. It's a repulsive practice, one I will not follow suit in."

"You find it repulsive because it hurts your mother, because you are bonded to her. You share no such bond towards me, so why would you worry to preserve my own mental health?" I ask in a murmur.

Jace's jaw clenches a few times before he can speak. "I find it repulsive because it is a lowly, cowardly thing to do, and it is wrong. Not just because it hurts my mother. Any man that cheats on his wife is a dog."  
"Such high moral standards coming from the man that has not only called my mother a whore but also used the services she offers," I say with a slight, ironic smile.

Jace's fury is fiery hot. He's more enraged than I've ever seen him before yet he slowly manages to calm himself down to a mere smoldering anger. "It is as if you _want_ to infuriate me to the point of violence."  
I smile slightly. "You said you'd never strike me."

"And I won't. But you act as if you wish I would sometimes," he mutters darkly, refusing to look at me.

"No, that's not it. I simply like to see your reactions to certain things. It's my own little way of getting to know you."

"You could care less about getting to know me," he scoffs, shaking his head. His burning hot eyes meet mine. "All you like is to get a rise out of me. Makes you feel powerful."

"As if you don't try to do the same with me when you're grabbing at me and teasing me," I return, rolling my eyes delicately. "That's your own way of feeling in charge."  
"I _am_ in charge, Mrs. Wayland," he says. But he's smirking slightly, playfully almost. Teasing me.

His mood swings are confusing.

"Whatever lets you sleep easy at night, darling," I reply, playing along with a cool smile.

"Do you really want to know what would help me sleep easy at night?"

I laugh a little as I say, "No, I don't."

"Why not?" he inquires innocently.

"Because I know whatever it is will horribly crude," I tell him.

He just smiles, a half-smile that is boyish and charming—if I didn't know him better.

But as we swim around, never getting too close to one another, I wonder if I know him as well as I think. Perhaps he's got secrets, too—just as I have.

Jace walks me back to my room a suitable distance from me. True to his word, he hasn't misbehaved all evening.

But now as we pause outside my door, I wonder if he won't end his winning streak.

He surprises me, though, by simply grabbing my hand and brushing his lips over my knuckles slowly, raising his eyes up to mine through his lashes. "Thank you for your company."

I pull my hand from his and give him a look. "You didn't give me much choice."

He grins crookedly and shrugs. "I have to do what I must."

I tilt my head as I reach for my door handle, pausing and looking over at him. "Why have you suddenly changed your tune—acting all polite and gentlemanly?" I narrow my eyes at him slowly. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," he replies, widening his eyes. "I've simply come to terms with the fact that I am married to you, albeit against my will. And now I endeavor to sweep you off your feet."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Good luck."

"I will, apparently, need it. You're a very difficult girl, Clary," Jace says with a slight grin.

I smile sweetly. "I shall take that as a compliment."

"It's meant as one." Jace reaches out and sweeps a few strands of fallen hair behind my ear, his rough fingertips skimming down my neck as he goes. "And you're a very interesting girl, as well. Not often does someone seem so cryptic to me. It'll be a nice change of pace to have a challenge in decoding you."

My blood runs a little cold, despite the heat surging from where Jace has touched me. I quickly open my door and say, curtly, "Well, I'm glad to be of service in alleviating your boredom. And then I slam the door shut behind me.

* * *

"He hasn't touched me yet," I tell my mother as we sit in the corner table of the dinning room. It is mid-afternoon, and the band has not yet arrived, nor the crowds usually found here during the evening. It is the perfect time for my mother and I to talk.

She sits across from me, arching her brows. "He hasn't?"

"No," I say, refusing to remember the night on the roof, where he touched me in such an intimate place, nor the night in front of my mirror, when he first kissed me. These things do not count, not in the big picture, not in what Mother is asking about.

But still, I feel the tingles begin again between my legs, and I have to shift to alleviate the maddening sensation.

"Hm. Has he tried and you scorned him?"

"No, Mother. I was expecting fully for him to take me our first wedding night. I dressed in the gown and everything. He's simply waiting, though. He wants me to give into him first, a little ego boost." I roll my eyes at his stupidity. As if I'd ever give in.

"Then you must," Mother announces.

My eyes widen a little, and I almost drop the fork I'm holding. "Pardon?"

She won't look at me as she mixes her dressing into her salad. "You must give into him, like he wants. The whole object of this plan is for you to get close to him, Clary. For him to _trust_ you."

"What rule says I have to open my legs to him in order to gain his trust?" I hiss, leaning into my mother so that we are not overheard.

Mother looks up at me, glaring just slightly. "Clary, you have a certain role to play. You play his wife, his other half, his confidant. It is truly amazing what secrets a man will whisper to you after you've given him pleasure. It's repulsive, yes, but it's the way of things." Mother pushes a few leaves of lettuce around her bowl without expression.

"I won't sleep with him—not unless he forces himself on me."

"Clary!"

"I won't! The plan was for me to marry him—I did that. And then, I was to sleep with him because I had to, because he'd demand it. But he _didn't_! And now, I refuse to give into him. I won't do it."

"Clary," Mother warns, her face cold. "You have to. This plan isn't going to unfold in a day. It will take months, maybe years depending on how open Jonathan is. You can't expect to go years without letting him touch you, and expect him to trust you? Impossible."

"Mother," I begin.

"Clary," she returns, halting me. Her green eyes level with mine. "Are you afraid it will hurt? Or do you not like going in, not knowing what to do? I can tell you some things, even though I know you've never wished to hear them before—"

"It has nothing to do with any of that!" I exclaim softly. "I've always been disgusted by the whole prospect of sex, and I—"

Mother sighs, looking down at her food. "That's my fault. It's because you know of what I do. And I'm sorry, Clary. I'm sorry I've ruined you in such a way. And I'm sorry that I'm using you now, using you to do this thing I cannot do myself. It's horrible and not a die goes by that I don't feel sickened by it." Mother inhales deeply, slowly. "But," she murmurs, drawing the word out as her eyes flicker back up to mine. "We must do things we do not want sometimes. For the greater good."

I stare at her a long time, my heart pounding, my stomach sick. I look away from her sharply, to the windows, to the setting sun starting to creep faster and faster towards the mountains and hills beyond.

I swallow against the lump of my throat and force myself to meet my mother's gaze again. And I agree, reluctantly, "For the greater good."

* * *

**Tell me what y'all think so far. Give me some clues as to what you're thinking is going on! (:**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Last update for the evening! Enjoy! And please, please review! (:**

* * *

Chapter Eleven

I raise my hand, but it hangs there, suspended before the door.

I don't think I can do this.

I still have time to chicken out, to retreat back to my room and take off the ridiculous red, lacy baby-doll I have on underneath my housecoat. There's still time.

But Mother is right. I have to do this.

"For the greater good," I whisper and then let my knuckles fall against the door lightly.

It takes a minute, but the door swings open finally and Jace is before me, glowering slightly, his hair messy, a burning cigarette in his hand. He's shirtless, only a pair of low-slung pajama pants hanging off his narrow hips.

He looks angry, furious almost, but when he sees me, his rage melts away a bit in face of shock. And suspicion. "What are you doing here?" he demands, lacking his usual seductive tone.

"I…May I come in?" I inquire, trying to slow the frantic pounding of my heart. The enormity of what I'm about to do sets in, making me shake.

"Now's not a good time," Jace says through tight lips.

I have to do this tonight. I can't wait any longer or I'll go crazy waiting, thinking of what will happen. So I offer my most pleasing smile, drop my lashes over my eyes shyly and say, "Please?"

Jace is glaring at me, seeing through my ploy, but he opens the door, just enough so that I can duck under his arm, inside his room.

He smells good, I notice. Like sweat and spices and heat.

I try to focus on these small good traits, the way his hair falls into his eyes and makes him look so boyish, the square angle of his jaw, the perfect definition of his chest and stomach, the way his lips are shaped—these are the things that will get me through this.

I glance around his room. It is identical to mine in layout, but his is done up entirely in shades of white. White rugs, white furniture, white curtains. Everything is immaculately clean. There is no artwork. No statues. No clutter of any kind, no hint of his interests or hobbies.

I press my lips together before turning towards him.

He kicks the door shut, and with his cigarette dangling between his lips, he brushes past me. "I'm really not in a very good mood—just a warning."

I feel my heart squeezing tightly, and my hands tremble as I reach up and undo the tie on my robe. I slowly remove it, letting it slide of my arms and pool at my feet.

Jace is glancing over at me, his eyes taking in my attire without much emotion, as he bends down to smear out his cigarette in the ashtray on his glass coffee table. "What are you doing, Clary?" he inquires quietly, his eyes finding mine.

I walk over to him deliberately, swaying my hips side to side as I go, until I am directly in front of him, smoothing my hands down his warm, hard chest. I meet his eyes shyly and say, "Whatever you want me to do."

Jace cracks a grin at this, shakes his head, and raises his hand so that he can slowly brush his thumb across my bottom lip, wiping away a little of my lipstick as he goes. "Don't play the bad girl, Clary. I know you're not."

He's making this difficult. I don't know what I doing really, and I'm uncomfortable with my lack of knowledge. And terrified at what's to come. I was hoping that he'd take one look at my revealing lingerie and hear just a little bit of prompting on my part, and then he'd take over.

But he's not giving in so easily.

It makes me wonder if men aren't so sex-crazed as I think. Or perhaps I'm just doing something wrong.

I scramble to think of what else to add, to make him take control and end this torture.

I move my hands up and down his chest languidly and lean up into him. "I'll be the good girl, if that's what you prefer." I manage to be just tall enough so that I can brush his bottom lip with mine. "Innocent and untouched. Ready to be shown the ways a man can pleasure a woman."

"The good girl is what you _are_, Clary." Jace's hand finds the hair at the nape of my neck, and he pulls back sharply. "Even if you are being a little lying bitch at the moment."

I glare, rage washing up inside me hotly, making me see red for a minute, but I know he's calling me names on purpose. To make me break character. He's testing me.

And I won't fall for it.

_For the greater good_.

I instead swallow back my anger, and I force out a careful smile. I slide my hands down his chest, over his hard stomach, to the waistband of his pants.

I am innocent, yes. But over the last few hours, I have read the dirty books my mother gave me a year ago in preparation for this. I was never interested in reading them until tonight, though interest was hardly what persuaded me to pick them up—necessity, more like it.

But now, I know what I'm searching for. And I know when I've found it.

My fingers brush lightly over his erection, which feels impossibly hard, and I watch as he shudders slightly, his eyes loosing focus for a moment. It's such a powerful reaction to such a light touch, and it fascinates me on some strange, far-away level.

I wrap my small hand around him as best I can and say, "Little lying bitches must be a turn on for you, then."

I can't help myself, or the sharply quiet words I murmur.

And it comes back to bite me when Jace jerks my hand away from him. He grabs my face tightly, and I'm suddenly afraid, afraid he might hurt me, but he doesn't. Though there's anger in his eyes, there's desire, too.

He watches as his hands smooth down over my cheeks, over my neck, across my shoulders. He drags the thin straps of my baby-doll down, and then his hands keep moving lower, ghosting over my chest as he leans into me and says, "As irresistible as you are when trying to seduce me," he pauses to squeeze breasts gently, and a sharp intake of air fills my lungs as I feel another sharp sensation—shooting right down my stomach. "I'm not in the mood."

Then Jace pushes me away, careful not to hurt me, but obviously making a statement. He walks towards the couch, sprawling out over it, leaving me to stand in the middle of the room with my chest hitching embarrassingly fast.

"Go back to your room, Clary," Jace dismisses dully.

But I won't listen.

I tell myself it's because I have an order to follow, but truly, it's because I won't let him win. I won't let him decide when I do and do not leave, when he does and does not take me. These are my choices, not his.

So I walk over to him and with subtle grace, I straddle him, my legs on either side of him as I kneel. He glances up at me, a predatory look in his eyes despite my height advantage. A slow smile curls his mouth, a daring smile. Curiosity blazes in his eyes along with lust and a little bit of irritation at my direct violation of his order.

"Touch me, Jace," I implore. "I want you to."

His hand comes up and his index finger teasingly traces over my bottom lip, down my chin, to my throat. He arches a brow at me expectantly.

I resist growling in aggravation, and I grab his hand with both of mine, guiding it down my chest, between my breasts, over my quivering stomach. I slide it even lower, right between my legs, right where moisture has gathered against my panties despite myself.

Throughout his little caresses and touches, my body has responded. It's only natural, I suppose, that my body should do this. I'm built to reproduce on a basic human level.

But it doesn't lessen my disappointment in myself, in my control. And at the same time, I'm glad I can react this way. Because this is the way I will need to react in order to make _Jace_ react as well.

Jace _does_ react, albeit slowly. Very slowly.

His eyes burn up into mine, so bright that they almost blind me, as a subtle smile rests on his lips. He doesn't drop his eye contact as I feel his hand move slightly, his palm cupping me, pressing into me in such an intimate area.

I'm not prepared for the waves of pleasure that suddenly shoot through me, nor am I prepared for the soft little moan that escapes my lips.

His hand feels so good there. Deliciously good. _Surprisingly_ good. And when he starts moving his fingers back and forth, rubbing roughly over the fabric of my panties, the pleasure increases. And worsens at the same time.

Such a strange feeling. Like I can't get enough, like I'm not getting enough. I find my hips rolling, pressing down on his hand, wanting more pressure. _Needing_ more pressure. Just needing more. More in general.

My hands are suddenly gripping his shoulders tightly. I feel my nails digging into his smooth skin and the hard muscle underneath, but Jace displays no signs of discomfort as his eyes blaze up into mine, watching me become a little frantic and horrified and pleasure-filled all at the same time.

I bite my lip to keep from moaning again.

And then Jace's lips are at my ear. "I bet you're loud, aren't you? I bet you will be. I bet you'll be a screamer. Screaming my name when I'm pounding into you, taking you every way imaginable." His hand moves a little faster against me now with his words, and I feel the excitement rolling off of him, clashing with my own cresting pleasure.

I'm feeling so detached from myself, as if my thoughts have abandoned me and there's just this feeling, this wonderful feeling of euphoria that is growing more and more. My breathing is becoming more labored, and I'm feeling my insides twist, almost in discomfort. I'm building up to something, but I don't know what.

"I can't wait to find out," Jace whispers against my neck, and then, his hand just stops moving. Just freezes. "But not tonight."

The feeling that was growing so strong ebbs, and I huff in shock, my body, which has become more tense than ever, suddenly dropping back down tiredly against Jace's lap.

Unfulfilled.

I still feel the area beneath his hand throbbing. Pulsing. It's almost achy.

Jace's hand retreats so that he can lift me easily off of him. He tosses me to the side of the couch, against the pillows, and I lay there in slight exhaustion.

He stands up, recovers my discarded robe, and then grabs my shoulder, hauling me to my feet. He puts my arms through the coat like I'm a child, and then, he draws the front of the robe together tightly before tying the draw strings together painfully hard, so that no glimpse of my red lingerie can be seen.

He reaches down, brushing my slightly sweaty hair off my cheeks, and his eyes find mine. He kisses me, softly—a little insultingly—and says, "Goodnight, Mrs. Wayland."

And I know there's no use in trying again.

So I just leave on shaky legs.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Sorry I made y'all wait so long. Today was a full day of classes. Boo. Anyway, here is the first update of maybe two...MAYBE three. It just depends! Also, I am amazed/in love/super pleased/incredibly grateful for all the reviews and input I'm getting from y'all. Keep it coming! I love hearing from y'all, even if y'all want to give me some criticism (but no one has but I'd totally dig it if I could get some, hint, hint). Also, a shout out to all those people that review and don't log-in or are just "guests." It makes me sad that I can't respond to y'all individually, so I'll just say THANK Y'ALL on here. It bothers me that I can't respond to y'all individually because I love nothing more than going through all my reviews and writing back... but I'm not complaining! Y'all are reviewing and that's awesome enough for me! **

**Now. Enjoy! (;**

* * *

Chapter Twelve

I open the door to find Celine standing before me, drowning in another gauzy white gown. Today, though, there's something different about her. More alive. More present.

"Good morning, Clarissa," she says. "May I come in?"

I reach up to touch the curls I have around my face. Her knocking roused me out of my fitful sleep full of half-remembered dreams that it's best I probably forget anyway.

"I hope I didn't wake you?" she inquires, twisting her hands, as if she's a child that's done something horribly wrong.

"Oh, no," I lie with a small smile. "Come in."

She does, striding past me and smelling of talcum powders. "I'm sorry if I did—wake you, that is. I don't sleep, and I sometimes forget that others don't sleep, either."

"You…don't sleep?" I ask as politely as I can, shutting the door behind me and drifting into the living area with her.

She goes straight for the window, peeping out at the rising sun. The soft light brings a little color to Celine's ghost-white face. "No. I'm an insomniac. I haven't slept for years now—not well, at least."

"That's…horrible." I'm not sure what else to say. The restless night I've had is catching up with me, stealing away my ability to converse intelligently.

"Oh, it's not so bad," Celine murmurs softly, squinting her eyes out the window. She leans in close, her breath fogging the glass as she stares at something with great curiosity. But then she simply blinks and turns her large eyes to me, cocking her head. "It's kind of nice, sometimes. To be awake when everyone else is asleep. Peaceful."

A smile is the only response I can think of.

Celine doesn't seem to notice my hesitance. Instead, she changes the subject—rapidly—as she sits down in the chair by the window. "Have you seen Jace?"

A flash of his hands on me rips through my mind, and I flush, turning away from Celine rather quickly, facing the cart of ice and tea that one of the servants leave outside my room every morning. "Yes, I saw him last night. Briefly."

Celine is quiet for a moment before sighing. "He wasn't in a very good mood, was he?"

I think of his glower and then of his half smirks, with his sleepy yet aggressive eyes. I feel my stomach tighten.

I busy myself with pouring some tea. "No, he didn't seem to be—though, like I say, I only spoke with him shortly."

"He had a fight with his father," Celine murmurs. "He's always fighting with his father."

I peep over my shoulder at her, but she's looking out the window again, off into the distance. I keep my voice casual and cool as I say, "So I've noticed."

Celine takes the bait. "I didn't mean to start the fight. I was just…well, I'm horribly curious sometimes." She giggles a little nervously. "I wanted to know…well," she says shyly, "I wanted to know if you two had been together intimately yet. I thought that you were very young. I just didn't think you'd want to yet. And Jace is very honest with me. He told me that he was going to wait—until you were ready. It pleased me, of course. I think sometimes that I've failed him as a mother, that I've not instilled in him good morals…that he will turn out too much like…other men that are around. But I see glimpses like that of him—and I'm relieved, really."

I look over at Celine again. She's brushing her knuckles back and forth rapidly over her mouth.

"I didn't know Valentine was outside and would overhear. He didn't like Jace waiting, of course. He's dreadfully paranoid, always fearing that he and Jace will die out before the bloodline is continued." A half ironic smile crosses Celine's face, and she rolls her eyes. "The most powerful man in the Guardianship, and he is so terrified of such a thing."

I pour Celine a glass of tea, as well, and bring it over to her carefully on a saucer. "Power sometimes makes you illogical."

"Doesn't it?" she agrees, taking the tea and thanking me as I sit down on the couch next to her chair. "Anyway," she continues. "I was hoping Jace would see you after his fight. He doesn't like talking to me about things concerning his father. I think he harbors a lot of resentment. It's not good for the soul to do that. I hope that, in time, he can confide in you about such things." Celine gives a tiny smile into her teacup before she takes a sip. "There's a kindness in your eyes, Clarissa. And your aura—it's lovely. Guarded, but pure nonetheless. I think you'll do well for Jace, even if you do have your secrets."

I feel the blood drain from my face as my eyes lift up from my teacup and move slowly to meet Celine's. There's nothing accusing in her gaze, but I still feel my heart hammering as if she's shouting accusations at the tops of her lungs. "Pardon?"

"We all have secrets, Clarissa," she whispers, suddenly leaning towards me. "Even me. I don't lie…but I did once. A big lie. I've prayed for forgiveness ever since, and I believe that's enough. Everyone is entitled to one big lie, I think…don't you?"

I simply stare at her, at a loss for words.

"Anyway, I just know you'll be great for my Jace. And maybe he'll be good for you, too, Clarissa." She sits her teacup down and stands up carefully, her dress billowing around her like smoke. She smiles and then says, "It's all about your aura, Clarissa. It tells me everything I need to know."

And then she leaves.

* * *

I see Jace and his golden curls from across the room.

I was not going to come to dinner tonight with him. In fact, I planned on trying to avoid him for the rest of the week. I know he is suspicious of me, and after last night's events, I am also humiliated—and it's a feeling I'm not used to at all. I don't want to face it.

But after Celine's chat, after thinking of how not showing up would only bring to Jace's attention how embarrassed I must be, I decide to come.

He's standing by a group of other Guardians, saying something with a small smile. I notice a much older woman, who hangs off the arm of a man whom I presume to be her husband, is smiling hugely at Jace, giving him the look a woman gives to a man when she's signaling her interest—and trying to capture his.

These people must all be mad.

I walk over after only a brief pause. I'm dressed in a deep purple silk gown that is strapless, that hugs my hips and legs tightly before belling out just slightly at my ankles. With my hair loose and only pinned on one side, with the gazes from the men I'm getting as I enter the room, I feel a little of my confidence returning. It allows me to move forward and approach the group of Guardians without one ounce of hesitancy in my step.

I slide my arm delicately underneath Jace's, resting my white-gloved hand carefully on his forearm. The woman who is now speaking to the group looses Jace's interest immediately as he looks down and over at me, a smirk spreading across his lips slowly.

"Mrs. Wayland," he says leaning down to brush his lips hotly over my cheek in greeting. It's hardly proper the way he lets his mouth linger, but a quick glance around the circle of Guardians prove that the rules of public affection obviously do not apply here. None of them seem to find anything wrong with Jace's display—except for the older woman whom was making eyes at him earlier.

"Good evening," I reply coolly.

He slides his lips over to my ear and whispers hotly, "May I speak with you in private, Clary?"

I try not to stiffen as I feel the little currents of electricity running over my skin at his proximity. It's a little disturbing to me, how much stronger his affect is becoming over my body. He's not even touching me in a sensual spot yet I feel as though he is.

I swallow and say, "Yes, of course."

I feel his lips pull up into a quick smile against my jaw before he looks over at the group and murmurs a quick, "Excuse us," before placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me to one of the many balconies coming off of the dinning room.

The air is shockingly cold when we exit the crowded, music-filled room for the outdoors. The bustle of city traffic echoes up towards us, competing for dominance over the sound of the whistling wind.

I turn to face Jace, and he comes to stand in front of me, much too closely, so that I have to crane my neck back to look up at him. "Yes?"

Jace's eyebrows arch in lazy disbelief, but when I show no signs of retracting my innocent tone, he says, "I'd like to address what happened last evening."

"What's there to address?" I inquire, refusing to look away from him.

"Well, I do find your sudden shift in mood from 'don't touch me' to 'please show me the ways you can pleasure me' to be quite dramatic. If not enormously suspicious."

I purse my lips. "Do you have a cigarette?"

He smirks, his eyes sharp as he digs around in his coat pocket and finds a pack of smokes. He fishes one out for me and places it between my lips slowly. "Trying to buy yourself some time to make up a plausible story?" he questions as he finds a light and ignites the cigarette for me.

"Hardly," I announce, blowing out a cloud of smoke delicately. "The answer is very simple. My mother and I had lunch together yesterday. It came up that you and I had not yet had intercourse, and my mother told me that I should rectify the mistake I made in letting you leave our first married night without consummating our relationship." I take a slow puff off my cigarette, still holding onto Jace's burning, amused eyes.

He nods a few times before arching his brows and saying, "And you just blindly follow your mother's directions? Even when it comes to your virginity?"

"I'm loyal to my mother, Jace. Surely, you can relate."

His eyes tighten, and I stow away this little slip of information. His mother is obviously just as touchy a subject as his father—in a different way, however.

I continue. "I've been purchased and given to you as a wife. It's my duty to behave in a manner in which would please my mother, you, your family, and of course, the tradition of Dates in general."

Jace sighs and leans his hip against the stone banister of the balcony. "You really expect me to believe you? You don't seem like the type of girl that behaves simply for the outstanding tradition of Dates."

"I behave for my mother," I tell him seriously. Then I take another drag off my cigarette, keeping his eyes locked with mine as I squint slightly. "I do as she wishes, within reason."

"And she wishes for me to get laid?"

I blow out another cloud of smoke, rolling my eyes. "She wishes for you to be pleased with me."

"I'm _very_ pleased with you, Mrs. Wayland. She need not worry about that," Jace says with a half grin.

I simply look away from him, turning to face the balcony and catch a glimpse of the city in front of us.

Jace leans into my side, his lips at my ear as he adds, "I just don't _trust_ you. Not as far as I can throw you."

"The feeling is mutual, darling," I reply, turning my head so that our lips brush as I speak.

Jace exhales his deliciously hot breath against my mouth. "Is it?"

"Yes."

"Now, why would you have any reason to mistrust me?"

"You hold all the cards."

"If only that were the case," he says, leaning into me. I expect a kiss, but what I get is much better—and worse. He grabs my bottom lip between his teeth and sucks it gently into his hot mouth, just long enough to make me gasp, make me feel the stirrings of desire in my stomach again, and then he pulls away.

I resist the urge to reach up and touch my lip, where it tingles slightly, and I instead look away from him and his arrogant, half-cocked smile and say, "Your mother visited me today."

Though I can only barely see him out of the corner of my eye, I feel his playful, sensual mood vanish instantly.

"That's interesting. She usually doesn't feel well enough to leave her bed," he says curtly.

"She told me she is an insomniac, among other things," I add, fishing.

Jace doesn't answer.

I glance over at him briefly before looking to my cigarette, held carefully between my fingers. "Your mother expressed her wishes for you to confide in me. She thinks you harbor a great deal of resentment towards your father, and hopes that you will one day open up to me."

"Well, she always was a dreamer—a ridiculous one, at that," Jace says bluntly. He's cold now, his eyes no longer swirling and hot. He shoves away from the banister and leans into me once again, all anger and no lust. "Good night, Mrs. Wayland. It's be a pleasure, as always." And with that, he disappears back into the hotel.

But I just smile because the pieces are starting to fall together now. Slowly. But I am gaining some insight.

Without even having to open my legs to Jace.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: ...y'all make me happy. That's all. Oh, and I will be posting ONCE more tonight! KEEP THOSE LOVELY, BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING REVIEWS COMING PLEASE! **

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

I swipe the liner over my eyelid smoothly, winging it out dramatically. Then I look in the mirror, satisfied at my work.

Tonight, I've gotten word from Mr. Lamb that I will be dinning with Jace _and_ Valentine. Apparently, this will become a new tradition every Friday evening, as Valentine can take a moment away from whatever—or whomever—he's doing during this time.

Tonight's a perfect night for more information.

I smile at my reflection, a slow and seductive smile, dropping my lashes just the right way. And I'm satisfied even more so. Yes, tonight will most definitely be a good night.

I smooth my hands down my ruby red dress before clacking out of the bathroom gracefully in my sling-backs. I grab my little clutch and leave my room swiftly, knowing that I am already running late.

Mother always said it was good to make the men wait a little—not long enough to annoy them, but long enough to send subliminal messages to let them know you run on your own schedule—not theirs.

But my whole plane is derailed when I heard my name called.

I glance back over my shoulder, still walking, and I find Simon. Sighing, I halt and let him catch up with me.

"Clary, hey!" he says, cheerful and light as he comes to stand before me.

"Hello, Simon," I reply with a small, subtle smile.

"Wow. You look great," he announces, his eyes moving up and down my figure once—not in a repulsive way, just in a way that flatters me greatly.

"Thank you, darling," I tell him. "I'm having dinner tonight."

"With the Waylands, huh?"

"I _am_ a Wayland, now," I correct politely with only a slight twist to my stomach.

"Oh, yeah, right." Simon nods a few times, a pucker forming between his brows. "You're just…you're just a lot different than them."

I arch a brow at him slowly. "Is that a compliment?"

"Being different from the Waylands? Hell yeah, it's a compliment! Haven't you met them?"

I resist the urge to laugh because despite how much I like this Simon boy, I know that I cannot let myself feel comfortable around him. Any reactions I have to his prods at the Waylands could come back to haunt me if I'm not careful.

I just simply say, "That's not a very kind thing to say, Simon."

"Yeah, there's not much kind _to_ say about them. Except Celine. She's kind of nutty, but she's nice enough, I guess. She doesn't seem like a Guardian either—she's not all above us humans like the rest of them."

"There certainly is a social order around here that is strictly adhered to," I murmur.

"You've got that right. 'Cept, I guess you're like at the top of the food chain—as far as humans go. You being a Date and all. And being Jace's wife. And…uh, looking the way you do." His eyes just subtly drop to my chest, but he quickly blushes and looks away.

I crack an amused smile. "You do flatter me, Simon."

"Glad to be of service," he says a little embarrassedly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I guess you get complimented all the time, though, don't you?"

I think about this for a moment. "Yes, I suppose. But it's rare the compliments don't make my skin crawl with the underlying innuendo. You are genuinely kind."

"I don't know about that," he manages, but I can tell he's pleased. Then he frowns suddenly and meets my eyes. "I guess our dancing lessons are over, huh?"

"Until Jace goes off again, I suppose. My afternoons are spent going to dinners with him now."

Simon nods, kicking his foot at the carpet.

I realize I must get going. I'm already late enough as it is. Being _too_ late is horribly tacky, but just as I begin to tell Simon goodbye, he stops me.

"I enjoyed them," he blurts out. "The dancing lessons. You're really…nice, Clary. And Isabelle is, too, actually. I always thought she was insane, but she's kind of…pathetic. Nice, but pathetic. I don't know…I just started looking forward to the lessons."

I feel my face turn a little weary. I'm not a stupid girl, not ignorant of when a boy feels more than friendship. I see the beginnings of a crush in Simon's eyes, in the way he ducks his head slightly and fidgets, and this is dangerous. Incredibly dangerous. I have to nip it in the bud.

Unfortunately, I don't have the time before I hear a familiar, drawling voice.

"There you are," Jace says from behind me. I feel him come to stand beside me, feel as he rests his hand on my lower back, which is exposed by the plunging cut of my dress. His large hand is warm and rough against my silky-soft skin, and he trails it up and down my spine a little, giving me goosebumps. "I've been looking for you."

I glance over at him briefly, trying to ignore how good his touch makes my body feel. "I apologize. I got held up."

Jace's eyes flicker deliberately to Simon, and I see the changes in him, the way he stiffens just a little, the way his jaw tightens at the human boy in front of us. "Simon," he says calmly but shortly.

"Mr. Wayland," Simon replies, lowering his eyes and head. A servant.

"Come on, Clary. My father's waiting for us," Jace says, pulling me just a little closer to his side.

"Yes, of course," I murmur, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at his ridiculous possessiveness. "Goodnight, Simon."

"Goodnight, Clary," he says. And then quickly splutters, "M-Mrs. Wayland." He scurries away without looking at either of us.

Then I begin walking, Jace hot on my heels.

"Clary?" he asks dully.

"Yes, that _is_ my name, darling," I say, holding up my purse and popping it open, in search of my compact as we make our way towards the elevator.

"Since when are you on a first name basis with the help?"

I jerk to a halt just a few feet from the elevator, which is open with the attendant inside, holding the doors for us. I barely notice him as I look up at Jace and say, sweetly, "Is that jealousy I detect in your tone?"

Jace opens his mouth to respond, hotly from the way he's glaring, but then he catches himself and glances over at the elevator attendant, who is shamelessly leaning forward, eager to catch an argument. "What the hell are you looking at? Get moving!"

The boy jerks back in fear and quickly hauls the iron doors together, pulling the lever and dropping out of view.

Then Jace's scalding eyes fine mine again and he says, "No, not jealousy—just anger. Why is he calling you by your first name?"

"I teach him dance along with Isabelle." I find my compact and pop it open, checking my eye makeup.

"You're teaching him how to _dance_?"

"Don't sound so shocked, Jace. Really. I'm quite capable."

"It's not a matter of your capability. It's a matter of him being alone with you!"

"Oh, listen to yourself. You sound like a child throwing a tantrum over having to share your toys."

"So you _share_ yourself with him, hm? You know, Clary, I must point out that sharing implies a certain amount of equal playing time—of which, I've not had."

"Calm down," I insist with an eye roll. "No one is _playing_ anything, as you so eloquently put it. And I'm not alone with him ever. Isabelle is always with us—and they're the ones dancing. I'm just an observer."

"I still find it funny that you'll spend time out of your day to teach the servant boy how to fucking waltz, but it's like pulling teeth to get you to go swimming with me."

I feel a wry smile spread across my lips as I look over at Jace, arching a brow. I snap my compact shut and ask, in mock wonder, "Why, Mr. Wayland, do you wish to spend more time with me?"

"More time with you would send me to an early grave," he growls, turning away from me sharply to smash the elevator call button.

I bite my lip and look down at my purse as I replace my compact. I'm trying desperately not to smile, but it's seeping through anyway. I'm feeling wonderfully victorious.

And then, I'm being grabbed by my upper arms and slammed roughly into the wall. Jace's lips attack mine almost violently, his irritation and desire evident through his demanding motions.

I'm a little shocked by this sudden turn, but I don't fight it. My body simply reacts, and I'm grabbing at his hair, tightening my fingers in the silken, warm curls as he parts my lips with his, his tongue slipping into my mouth and tangling with mine.

Where each of our kisses before have been a small spark slowly building into something greater, this is immediately an inferno.

It's heavenly, the way he's kissing me. Like he's loosing a bit of control. And where I'd normally feel victorious over this, as well, I only react in turn by loosing some of my own poise.

My heart pounds against my ribcage frantically as Jace's hands are on me, running down the sides of my neck, down to my breasts, squeezing them roughly. It causes a bolt of pure pleasure to shoot straight through my stomach, where it settles infuriatingly between my legs, making me squirm.

Jace's hands keep going, though, not stopping there. He slides them over my clenching stomach and then around to my hips. He grips me tightly, making me cry out a little against his mouth, which only fuels the flame between us more.

He uses his hold on me to lift me up and then he's pressing against me, pinning me between the wall and him, and I feel his hands move to my legs, traveling up, pushing my dress up along with them. It bunches around my waist, and Jace's hands move again, cupping my bottom, pulling me up roughly against his hips as his lips and teeth and tongue clash against mine relentlessly.

Then there's a soft gasping sound, and we both turn our heads, breaking our delicious contact to see the elevator attendant once again, summoned by the button Jace pushed earlier.

The boy's eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. He's staring at us, most specifically me and the daring amount of my leg that is being shown. And then the boy seems to twitch to his senses and he's stammering, "I'll, uh…I'm leaving!"

"No," Jace says before the boy can pull the level and disappear again. "We'll catch this one." Jace drops me suddenly, and I barely manage to catch myself, gasping in anger as I stand on shaky legs and smooth down my skirt.

But Jace isn't paying me any attention. He's leaning away, yanking the metal doors of the elevator apart and jerking his chin towards the opening. "Ladies first," he says, sickly sweet.

I just attempt to fix my hair as I sashay by him, into the elevator, and then we descend in complete silence. The elevator attendant won't look anywhere but straight ahead, and Jace won't look at me. He just leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his jaw tight.

But on the inside, I'm smiling. Because I got him to react first.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Last update for the night. Sorry it took so long. ADD strikes again! Anyway, enjoy and good night! (:**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

"You've made a mess of my makeup," I grumble as we walk towards the dinning room. I've had to retrieve my compact again, and I look in my reflection to find horribly smeared lipstick all over the bottom half of my face.

"It's not my fault you insist on wearing all that shit on your face," Jace snaps back, equally irritable.

"And my hair! You've wrecked it," I accuse, trying to pat down the wild strands.

"Excuse me while I cry tears of sorrow and loss."

I don't respond in any way but trying desperately to make myself appear to Valentine as if I haven't just been in an impromptu groping session with his son.

Then I glance over at Jace suspiciously and find my fears are grounded. "You have lipstick all over your mouth."  
Jace mutters something vaguely insulting under his breath, swiping angrily at his face.

"Stop," I demand, pulling out a hanky from my purse and dabbing at his mouth and chin myself. He stands and fidgets like a child wanting to bolt, but he lets me clean the makeup off of him as best I can without water.

Then we make our way to the dinning room, where Valentine waits, glowering a bit, in the usual corner table.

"I was beginning to wonder if you two had gotten lost," Valentine says when draw near.

Despite my best efforts, as he looks between us, there's a slight smirk on his thin lips, as if he knows what we've been up to. He looks sickeningly satisfied, and Celine's previous words drift back to me.

_He's dreadfully paranoid, always fearing that he and Jace will die out before the bloodline is continued._

Jace stiffly pulls out my chair for me, and then, once I'm seated, he flops down in the chair next to mine, a glare on his face. I'm not sure if he's mad at me, sexually frustrated because of our interruption earlier, or as enraged by his father's arrogant aura as I am.

"How have both of your days been?" Valentine inquires.

Jace grabs the wine bottle that rests in the middle of the table and pours himself a glass, downing it quickly and looking unsatisfied. A waiter walks by just in time, and Jace flags him down. "Bring me something stronger than this."

Valentine looks vaguely unhappy by the notion of Jace's request, but he simply turns his attention to me, arching his brows, prodding me forward on his previous question.

"It was well, thank you," I say with an easy smile. "And yours?"

Jace stiffens next to me at the small talk, but Valentine hardly notices.

The next hour is spent on boring small talk. I can never seem to get an opening into a deeper, more insightful conversation. Valentine seems to keep every topic very shallow, never delving beyond anything trivial.

And as the night progresses and a steamy stream of whiskey is available to Jace, he gets drunker and drunker until he's hanging his head forward, lying listlessly in his seat.

Valentine gracefully ignores his son and simply continues speaking with me. "You've adjusted well to the hotel, Clary?"

"Yes, thank you. Everything is lovely."

"No, it's not, don't lie," Jace slurs, suddenly deciding to pipe in on the conversation. "Nothing's lovely here."

"Jonathan, please," Valentine grinds out.

"It's Jace," he retorts, glaring drunkenly at his father. Even though his eyes are a little droopy, the look on his face is so dark and serious that it chills me a bit, and I can see clearly how terrifying Jace could be should he so please. "I hate when you call me Jonathan."

"Jonathan is your name," Valentine says.

Jace opens his mouth to respond, his face turning so violent that I have to quickly interrupt. I make a big show of looking around and asking, "What do you think is holding up our dessert?"

Valentine looks at Jace with barely concealed hostility before he looks away and sighs. "I'll go check, Clary. Excuse me." He leaves the table quickly, with jerky, angry steps.

I sit back in my chair, relieved a bit.

But the relief is short-lived when Jace suddenly leans into me, his breath hot and sticky against my neck as he mumbles, "I wanna fuck you, Clary."

My hand jerks up, immediately going to slap him, but he leans back and laughs a little, rolling his head back and forth like a complete lunatic. He's drunk, and we're in public. I can't slap him.

So I force my hand back into my lap and glare. "You're disgusting." I can't stomach this for long, so I get to my feet.

Jace's laughter dies immediately and he looks almost panicked as he grabs for my wrist. "Wait, Clary, no. I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean it…well, I _did_ mean it but I shouldn't…shouldn't said like…shouldn't said _it_ like that. Don't go."

I jerk my arm away from him hold. "I'm just going to the restroom. Try not to embarrass yourself while I'm gone."

"Yes, ma'am!" he exclaims dully.

I march my way towards the bathrooms, furious, my heels clacking loudly against the tile flooring. And right when I turn to go into the hall the bathrooms are on, I pause, quickly halting the sound of my approach.

"…can't do that!" a familiar but not immediately identifiable voice says.

I grab my compact from my purse silently and pop it open, tilting it to the side just enough so that I can see Sebastian.

And Valentine.

"Well, you have to," Valentine says.

"But, I _can't_. She doesn't want—"

"I don't give a damn what she _wants_, Sebastian! You'll do it or I'll make sure you rot in the streets with the rest of the human filth in this city!"

Sebastian seems to pale. He wrings out his hands, chews on his lip, waits for a moment. Then, in a shaky voice, he says, "Okay. I'll do it."

"Good."

I quickly snap my compact shut and walk away, afraid to get caught. When I get back to the table, my heart pounding, Jace is blowing bubbles in his water glass.

"Jace, I need to talk to you," I murmur.

"Talk to me, baby," he slurs, glancing up at me and dropping a wink.

I huff and sit down next to him, leaning close while my eyes scan the room, waiting for Valentine. "Why don't we go back up to my room?"

"Yeah, I like that idea," he says suggestively and lowly, hanging on his words.

I roll my eyes, but thank God that he's decided to get drunk tonight. He seems like a loose drunk, a talker, and maybe now is the perfect time to glean some information from him.

So when Valentine reappears, I tell him I'm going to take Jace back upstairs. Valentine seems relieved and preoccupied; obviously by whatever he's forcing Sebastian into doing.

Whatever it is, I decide it can't be good.

"Sit down," I order.

Jace falls onto my couch, mumbling about how he likes it when I'm bossy or some nonsense.

I simply roll my eyes but sit next to him, scooting close, questions on the tip of my tongue as I reach out and pull my fingers through his messy curls.

He looks over at me with glazed eyes. "Are you trying to take advantage of me?" he asks, dead serious.

"Don't flatter yourself," I scoff. Then I take his head between my hands, forcing him to look at me as best I can. "I have some questions for you, okay?"

"M-kay."

"Have you ever heard your father or someone mention anything about the Millhouse incident?" I ask, praying that he'll be too drunk to remember this. Too drunk to remember it tomorrow but not drunk enough not to be able to answer.

I'm taking a risk asking him these things, but I don't plan to spend the next five years of my life here, playing Jace's wife, just to get the information I'm after. I couldn't stand living here that long.

"Millhouse?" Jace demands, frowning. "That fire where all those humans…got…got burnt to a crisp?"

I grimace but nod. "Yes, that's the one. Has your father ever mentioned it?"

"Noooooo. Should he have?"

"I don't know," I reply honestly. Then I tell Jace to focus again before I ask him other questions.

Are there any files the Guardians keep on their dealings?

Jace's answer is that he can't tell me that, even in his drunken state.

I ask, Why is Valentine in charge, why will you be in charge next? What makes your bloodline so important?

He says it's always been that way.

I ask him how often and forceful do the demons attack the city boundaries.

But by now, he's too far-gone.

He simply says, "I like you, Clary. I know you don't think I do, but I do. You're pretty…and…and you have nice lips." He leans into me heavily before just toppling over, his head falling against my chest. I don't bother to move him because I'm too busy trying to piece together what little information he gave me, and he just continues rambling. Rambling about my lips and how he likes how curvy my hips are—strange things like that. And then he's talking about his father, how he can't stand the man. And that leads into things I'm actually interested about.

"He cheats on my mom all the time, sure. But that's not the only reason why he's an asshole. I mean, Mom doesn't even notice when he's cheating a lot of the time. She's too busy…too busy in her own head, in her _visions_—"

"Visions?" I interrupt, frowning down at the top of Jace's head.

"Yeah! She says she gets visions sometimes, sees things that haven't happened yet or are happening to someone totally unrelated to us at the same exact time…she doesn't have any visions. She's just bat-shit crazy, is all. I love her, but that's…that's the truth."

I try not to pause too long and lose Jace's interest. Instead, I quickly ask, "Then why else do you hate your father?"

"'Cause he keeps secrets. He's always being secretive about everything…and I…I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone here, Clary. We're all crazy…all of us. And everyone's got their secrets piled up…and when there's secrets, there's all this…all this desperation not to let your secret get out…and…and…" Jace trails off, and then he snores softly, letting me know our conversation has ended.

I carefully ease out from underneath him, letting him fall to the couch, and then I walk over to the phone. I call the correct number, let it ring a few times, and then, when someone picks up, I say, "I've got something."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: You guys are just the most amazing people ever. Seriously. Y'all rock. Please keep those perfect reviews coming! I'll be updating three times today, by the way, this being the first chapter! Enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

"So. He doesn't know anything about the Millhouse fire, at least not that he's saying. He wasn't drunk enough to tell you about the Guardians' files, and he didn't know why the Waylands are in charge." Mother nods slowly, taking all of this in.

"Yes, that's it," I say. "Oh, and the information about Celine—her visions. It seems to me that it's just some sort of psychological problem, but with her angelic bloodline, it can't be totally discounted as her being crazy."

Mother nods again. "Yes, that's very true. Although, Valentine has never mentioned Celine having visions before."

"Would he have told you if she had?"

"He likes to brag on his family," Mother murmurs, looking down at her lunch plate. "He was always telling me how smart Jace was, how he was the top of his class in fighting and academics while he was attending the Guardian Academy. I would think he would have mentioned Celine's gifts, as well, though I can't be sure."

I simply nod and glance around at the small, fancy restaurant Mother and I have met in. It's the first time I've been out of the Wonderer in a few weeks, and I'm thankful to be free of it. It's nice to be on the ground again, surrounded by other humans. I wish I could just disappear in the mass of people drifting by the windows outside. I don't want to go back.

But I know I have to.

I check the watch on the wall and sigh. "I need to go back. It will raise suspicion if we spend too much time together."

Mother inclines her head, but her eyes are distant. Calculating and plotting. "Clary, try to drink casually with Jace again some time soon—not too soon, however, as it might tip him off. Try to get him to open up again."

I nod and stand, gathering my purse. "Of course."

"You're doing wonderfully so far," Mother adds, smiling up softly at me.

I smile back, but it's hollow. "Thank you," is all I say.

* * *

When I get back to my room, Jace is still passed out on the couch.

I roll my eyes at his sleeping form, with his arms tossed up above his head, dangling off the side of the couch, his legs sprawled. One false move, and he'll be on the floor, which is more juvenilely appealing than should be to me.

But I don't wait around for him to fall and instead go to my bathroom, changing out of my rather demure suit dress into something a little more appealing—a slightly shimmery, hazel-colored dress that hugs me perfectly.

Just as I'm taking my hair out of its pins and letting it fall around my shoulders to restyle it, I hear Jace rouse in the other room.

Only a moment later, he's standing in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the frame heavily, running a hand through his messy curls with a bleary expression.

I smirk as I return my eyes to my reflection. "You look awful."

"I could never look awful. I simply look a little more rugged than usual," is Jace's thick reply. He runs his hands down his face twice.

"Well, I'm not sure about rugged, but you _certainly_ look hung-over," I reply, brushing through the ends of my soft curls.

Jace ambles towards me, coming to stand behind me. His hands smooth lightly over my hips, resting there as his eyes find mine in the reflection of the mirror. "How'd I wind up here last night?" he inquires curiously before tilting his head, brushing his lips over my neck.

I grip the bathroom counter to keep from leaning back into him. "You seem to suffer greatly from separation anxiety when you are under the influence. I simply couldn't get rid of you."

Jace laughs hotly against my skin. His eyes flicker back up to meet mine from underneath his lashes as he deliberately pulls the sleeve of my dress over a bit and kisses my shoulder.

He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to. Just the way he's looking at me is making me uncomfortably aroused.

His hands ease forward, resting against my stomach and he pulls me back suddenly, pressing my body into his. His lips continue kissing up and down my neck, except now, he's paused slightly at my pounding artery and then he begins to gently suck there, applying just enough pressure to make me squirm.

My eyes see in the reflection as his hands slip down, grabbing the hem of my dress slowly and raising it. And then his right hand slips underneath, sliding in between my legs, inching up my thigh horribly slow.

I can't let this happen, so I manage a quick, almost panicked, "Jace, please."

He sucks harder against my neck, and I feel myself leaning back against him despite myself, feel my head tilting to the side to allow him better access.

It feels good, what he's doing, at the same time it's getting just a little bit painful. Good painful. I have to bite my lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of my soft gasps.

Then he releases my skin with a soft kiss before smoothing his tongue over the area carefully, making my teeth dig down even harder into my bottom lip.

"Will you go swimming with me later tonight?" Jace inquires suddenly, meeting my slightly dilated eyes with his in the mirror. I see a smug smirk ghost over his face at my obviously pleasured expression, so I quickly school my features into my usual, stoic mask.

"If you promise to keep your hands to yourself," I say, removing his hands from me roughly and leaning into the mirror, brushing my hair over my shoulder and carefully touching the slightly throbbing red mark on my neck that he's left.

Jace laughs and shakes his head a little. "I promise."

"Then, fine. I suppose I will," I murmur.

"Good," Jace says. "Meet me at ten at the Roman pool."

I nod, refusing to look at him as I continue inspecting the angry mark he's given me.

He starts to walk away but then pauses and leans back into me, his lips at my ear and his eyes capturing mine in the reflection as he says, "I like it when you wear your hair down, Clary." He reaches up and runs his fingers gently through my curls before suddenly grabbing at the strands, yanking my head back.

I gasp quietly, and he kisses my jaw before brushing his lips down over the mark he's made, and then he disappears, leaving me to watch as a dark bruise forms very obviously on my neck.

* * *

"You have a hickey!"

I yank the little decorative scarf around my throat tighter, glaring at Isabelle. "No, I don't."

"Jace gave you a hickey, didn't he?" Isabelle sighs and shakes her head, as if her cousin's motivations are beyond her. "He's such a boy. Why guys feel the need to mark us like we're their property…well, it's pretty sexy, if we're being honest."

I roll my eyes at her change in tune. "I demand a subject change."

"Don't be so uppity, Clary. We're friends, now, aren't we?"

"Yes," I say despite myself as I pour us two cups of tea. "But that doesn't mean we should talk about such things. It isn't _ladylike_."

"I'm not here for lessons today, Clary. I'm just here for a visit since you called me." She shifts on the couch and throws her legs up, crossing them in front of her, showing off her underwear.

I give a pointed look but she doesn't seem to notice my subtle reminder for poise while she's sitting. She just grabs for the tea I hand her and takes a big gulp. "So, why'd you call? I mean, I'm glad you did. I've been so bored lately. Sebastian hasn't been around much. And he doesn't like me training, so I've just been sitting around."

"Why doesn't he like you training?" I inquire, easing into the chair diagonal from her. I cross my legs in a much more elegant, ladylike manner.

"He wants a baby," Isabelle sighs, leaning back into the couch and rolling her eyes. "So, he thinks that if he manages to knock me up, he doesn't want me training and maybe hurting the baby before we even know that I'm pregnant."

"And do _you_ want a baby?"

"Not particularly. But Guardians are required to have at least one child. We're such a small group, and so many of us die…they don't want a shortage of us—or a bigger shortage than there already is."

_No, wouldn't want that._

I frown but hide it as I sip my tea.

"So. Back to your hickey." Isabelle grins. "Did y'all seal the deal?"

"Isabelle," I warn.

"What? I'm just curious."

"Isabelle, I won't talk to you about this. You know better than to even ask."

"So I take that as a no." She looks disappointed as she downs the rest of her tea in a huge gulp. "You gonna wait until you're ancient before you let him get anywhere?"

I glare at her over the rim of my teacup.

"He's not a patient guy, Clary. What if he goes off looking for some other girl to meet his needs?"

"That's entirely up to him," I say, thinking it over. It would be better if he broke his rule on cheating. If he decided to get his needs met from some other woman, I wouldn't have to worry about it myself.

"You can't mean that. I can't believe that you—you, of all people—would be fine with him screwing another woman. You're too prideful."

"I don't care what Jace does, Isabelle. I'm not in love with him. He's not in love with me. Our marriage was a business agreement—nothing more. If he wishes to contract some sort of disease from another woman, then I say let him have at it."

Isabelle smirks. "There! There's a little fire."

I clear my throat and roll my eyes. And then I try to change the subject again. "How has Sebastian been lately?"

"Oh, he's been fine. I guess. Extra-kiss-butt-y lately. He's been running baths for me at night and even fixing my tea for me. It's weird." She shrugs. "And then he's gone a lot, too…I guess he's trying to make up _for_ being gone so much."

I nod slowly, my mind working. "Running your baths and fixing your tea? That doesn't sound so horrible."

"I don't know. It's not, I guess. It's just weird because he's never done any of those things before."

"Well, can he do them properly at least?" I ask with a smile but I'm searching for deeper meaning.

And Isabelle gives it to me.

"Yeah. He throws all these scented oils in the bath water. And then his tea is delicious. I don't know what he makes it with, but it's so heavenly."

"What's it taste like?" I question casually, taking a sip of my own tea as I hang on her words.

"I don't know…it's hard to explain… I guess… I guess it tastes like honey."

And that's exactly what I'm looking for.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Y'all are so sweet. So much love and support and it just tickles me silly! But I must also talk to all the people that are reading this and NOT reviewing, as well. I understand y'all might not like reviewing, but please, I LOVE hearing from my readers. So if you have the time, PLEASE, PLEASE review to me so I can hear how you feel about it. I won't bite and I reply to ALL my reviews! (: **

**Enjoy, darlings!**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

My bathing suit is tight and structured, black with frilly edges on the tiny skirt. I twist in the mirror, making sure it looks all right, and then I pull my hair up—not only because I don't want it to get wet but because Jace said he liked it down. Although, he probably won't mind it being up tonight, seeing as how it makes his mark on my neck very visible.

I sigh at the purple bruise and I grab some of my makeup, covering it as best I can. I almost make it disappear before I decide it won't get any better than that, and I leave for the pool.

Jace is already there when I arrive.

He's sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water, as he has his head turned, his eyes staring out the window at the bright night below us. He's shirtless, of course, and I find myself admiring him. He may be the enemy in this case, but he is a beautiful man, with his defined stomach and chest and arms, and his golden skin and curly hair.

I click my shoes louder than usual so that he looks up as I approach. I sway my hips a little more than necessary, which makes him smirk as his eyes trail my exposed legs.

"Hello," I say calmly, undoing the tie of my short little robe and removing it slowly, letting it drop on one of the many chairs around the pool.

"Hey," he responds, tilting his head at me, his eyes still taking in my attire. His lips remained curved crookedly.

"Does your hang-over still persist?" I inquire, removing my platform shoes carefully.

"No." Jace stands up, tugging at the top of his low-riding swim trunks as he drifts towards me. "I wasn't hung-over to begin with."

"No?" I arch a doubtful eyebrow.

He just smirks and moves very close to me. Too close, as usual. "No."

"Do you have no idea of personal space at all?" I ask him, eyeing the small gap between us pointedly.

"Yes, I do. I just find it hard to keep my distance from you. Especially when you're dressed like that." He raises his hand, cups my cheek gently, briefly, before moving it down my neck and then lower, to lightly trace the sweetheart neckline of my bathing suit with his index finger.

His touch is light and whisper soft but it still raises goosebumps on my skin. So I carefully remove his hand and give him a look. "Hands to yourself, remember?"

He holds his hands up and away from me. "Sorry," he says, not sounding one bit apologetic.

I just roll my eyes.

"Why do you wear all that makeup when you're coming to swim?" Jace inquires of me as I walk away from him a bit, to the edge of the pool, just to put some distance between us.

"I don't plan on getting my face or hair wet," I reply to him, peeping down at the glassy surface of the water, at the wavering golden-lit tiles underneath. I'm mesmerized a little.

"You don't?"

Something in Jace's voice makes me frown and begin to turn towards him, but it's too late. He's already pushed me.

I fall, letting out a brief scream of shock, before I hit the water and go under. I pop back to the surface almost immediately, gasping and pushing my hair out of my face.

Jace is squatting in front of me, smirking with his eyes dancing. "I couldn't resist."

I glare at him, which makes him laugh because I'm sure I look rather ridiculous with my mascara running. So I reach up and grab his arm, yanking in him. I have the sneaking suspicion that he lets me because he topples in a little too easily, but I still feel a slight sense of satisfaction anyway.

"Now, we're even," Jace says as he surfaces, shaking out his wet hair.

I purse my lips and then reply, "No," before splashing him with a big wave of water. Then I say, "_Now_, we're even."

Jace wipes the water off his face, giving me a challenging look. "Do you really want to start this?" He swims closer, dangerously fast, and I scramble backwards, feeling a little bit of fear shoot up my spine, making me smile at the same time.

An old memory suddenly flickers in my mind, a memory of my mother and I swimming at this pool… I don't remember where, it was so long ago. I just remember it because it was such a treat to be able to swim in such a clean pool. I remember because my mother swam under water and chased me, making me giggle and take in water as I tried to excitedly get away.

"No," I tell Jace now, and there's a little laugh in my voice.

He comes up short, a look of almost-surprise flashing briefly across his face, and then he smiles a little. But this smile is different than his usual, cocky smirk. It's a real smile, soft and warm, and it takes me by surprise.

"You look so different without makeup," he says, suddenly, still looking at me with his bright, beautiful burning eyes.

I self-consciously swipe at my cheeks, under my eyes, wiping away the running mascara. "I look like a baby without it," I say, and I don't like how quiet and hesitant I sound.

Jace drifts closer to me in the water, so that we almost touch. He's inspecting my face with enough intensity to make me nervous. And then he just shakes his head. "Just different," is all he says.

"Hm," I say vaguely, glancing away from him, looking out at the sparkling city beyond us.

I feel Jace lean in and press a soft kiss to my jaw, then to my neck.

I inhale and say, in quiet warning, "Jace."

"You said to keep my hands to myself—nothing about my lips," he replies, kissing the side of my mouth. Letting his lips linger there.

I don't know why, but I turn my head and then we are suddenly kissing in earnest, mouth to mouth. But he keeps the kiss slow and gentle, almost startling me with how careful he's being.

Slowly, the heat builds. It's not the inferno of our last kiss, but it's delicious in its own way. In a sweeter way, almost.

I'm warm, all over, feeling breathless and dizzy as I reach for him, grasping at his shoulders as his arms wrap around my waist, hugging me to him. Our lips meld together, over and over, in deep, languid kisses that finally steal all my breath away and I have to break our contact to take in a gasp of air.

Jace simply kisses my cheek, my jaw, my temple, brushing his lips across my skin like a feather.

I shiver and run my hands down his chest a little, feeling the slight raised marks on his body. I look down at them, at the swirling lines that speak in a language I cannot understand, and I ask, "What do these do? And say?"

"They don't do anything, that I know of, except maybe tell people we're Guardians," Jace murmurs, pulling away from me a little to watch as my fingers trace the lines on his chest. "I'm not sure what they say, either."

"Does anyone know?" I inquire.

"Not that I know of. Probably once upon a time," Jace murmurs, catching my hand as it traces and then looking down into my eyes. He's giving me such a strange look that it makes me nervous. He's being too gentle, too sweet, and it's not like him.

So I ask, "Why are you being so nice tonight?"

Jace laughs once on an exhale before shaking his head and touching my cheek. "I'm always nice."

"Not hardly," I scoff.

Jace sobers a little, reaches out and touches my cheek almost hesitantly. "I don't know…you just…you seem different tonight. It's one of those nights that are different, too. One of those strange nights."

I frown at his cryptic tone, but before I can ask him what he means, he goes on.

"I'm suddenly reminded of how young you really are," he whispers, his brows pulling together as he watches his thumb brush over my cheekbone. "And…I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" I ask, my voice just a hint of whisper.

"Sorry that you had to marry me," he says, his eyes meeting mine with a dim light. "I know you didn't want to. I didn't want to marry, either, but you…you're younger. You didn't know this would happen—I grew up with the notion that I'd be forced into marriage at an early age. It…it made me realistic. But you didn't have the same…luxury? I'm not sure if that's the right word, but maybe…maybe you believed in true love and all that before this."

I stare up at him a long time, the air very quiet and still between us, before I say, simply and softly, "I've never believed in true love."

* * *

Jace walks me back to my room.

We are silent, both of us absorbed in our own thoughts.

I'm disturbed by this sudden turn of events regarding Jace's mood. I don't like that he's being nicer, gentler. It makes me feel weaker, in more ways than one.

It scares me, too. Because I think…maybe he's not so bad. Maybe there's a good heart underneath, buried and hidden because of his upbringing. A small part of me wants to see if it's true, to find that glimpse of goodness and bring it out. Because I've always wanted to help people, especially when they show me there is, in fact, good in them.

But these thoughts are dangerous, and I have to stop them.

I'm getting too carried away.

Jace's mood tonight is most likely a ploy—a ploy to get into my bed.

We arrive at my room door, and I go to open it, ready to get inside and shut him out and think. And be alone.

But Jace's arm falls smoothly between me and the door, his hand resting on the doorframe, his face very close to mine. "Clary?"

I arch my brows at him carefully. Neutrally.

"I just wanted you to know that…that I won't be trying anything with you again. Not anymore," he says, and there's this really honest, bright light in his eyes that almost makes me believe him for a minute.

But then I purse my lips and say, "And your sudden change of heart is because…?"

"I don't know." Jace looks off, a little frustration in his tone, in his mannerisms. "I just…sometimes, I find myself acting like my father. I've _been_ acting like my father with you—pushing. Always pushing. And I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be anything like him, Clary, except maybe a good leader. But I don't want to push you anymore. You're just a kid, for Christ's sake."

"A kid?" I frown up at him. "Just because you see me without makeup, you suddenly decide I'm a kid? I may be only sixteen, but I'm not a child, Jace. And I won't be talked down to like I am one."

"I'm not _trying_ to talk down to you, Clary. That's the whole point," he says, a pleading tone in his voice.

"Well, calling me a kid is hardly talking _up_ to me," I snap, my anger appearing from nowhere. It makes my blood run hot, out of control. "I don't want your false words of kindness. And I sure as hell don't want your pity."

"I'm not pitying you," he says, his own anger becoming apparent, darkening his eyes and voice.

"It sure seems like it."

"I guess you just look for a reason to be a bitch, don't you?"

I let out a surprised, irritated laugh. "Oh, and you're not trying to talk down to me?"

"That's not talking down to you," he growls, his face much, much too close to mine now. "That's calling you out when you're being a brat—you do the same to me. It works both ways, honey."

I'm breathing hard, glaring up at him, parting my lips to dish back to him what he's dishing out, but then I'm thinking about how close his lips are to mine, how easy it would be to go up on my tiptoes and crash my mouth to his. How he'd kiss me back—rough and angry, fighting for dominance. The way it should be with him. It would remind me of who he is.

And just as I'm about to, someone clears their throat.

We both glance over to find Mr. Lamb, his expression meek as he looks between us and the way our bodies are arching towards each other provocatively.

"I apologize for the interruption," he says. "But I'm afraid, Mrs. Wayland, that I have some rather bad news for you."

I feel my blood, which has been so overheated, suddenly run ice cold, making me drop away from Jace and press back against the door. "What is it?"

Mr. Lamb looks a little pained and he hesitates before saying, "Your mother called. I believe there's a family emergency."

"What is it?" I repeat, enunciating each syllable perfectly.

Mr. Lamb won't meet my eyes as he says, "Your aunt has passed away, Mrs. Wayland."

And just like that, I'm suddenly reminded why I'm here.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: Last update for the night. A warning, I'm not going to update again for a few days. I'm sorry, but I'm going on vacation with my family. I can't spend all my time with them addicted to my computer! It's good to socialize every once in a while, I guess! :p Anyway, I'm sorry that y'all will have to wait! Don't let that stop you from reviewing, however. Wink, wink, hint, hint, nudge, nudge.**

**By the way, Y'ALL ARE AMAZING! Once again. Because some of the stats for this story surpass The Four, and The Four has been around for like a month now, and this story has only been around a few days-not even a week! Y'all are too cool. Seriously. THE coolest. **

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

My mother is sitting at the window, watching as the rain falls.

I ease into our apartment carefully, closing the door behind me. I remove my headscarf to protect my hair from the rain and sit it on the table before walking forward and squatting down in front of my mother.

She hasn't looked at me yet, simply continues to stare out the window. She looks dead.

"Mommy," I say, using the name I haven't called her since I turned five. I reach and grab her hands between mine. They are cold and listless. "Mother, I'm sorry."

She finally looks over at me, her eyes filled with tears now. But she's determined, too. Steely. Resolved. "I want them burned down to the ground. I want them all to die."  
I stare at her, looking between her eyes, feeling my heart pound with fear, fearing the note in her voice. But I just nod. "They will be."

"I'm not going to rest until they are," she says softly.

"I won't, either. It's working, Mother. Our plan's working. I can do this. I can get Jace to trust me—he already is starting to feel for me. He sees me as a young girl that he needs to protect. If I can keep that image in his mind, he won't see me as a threat at all. It's _working_, Mother."

"If I find out Valentine was the reason…the reason why Amatis is dead…" Mother's bottom lips quivers, a few tears spilling over her cheeks. But her voice comes back strong. "I want to kill him myself. Slow and painful. I want to make him watch as his empire crumbles, as his son, his precious little heir, is taken from him. I want to save him for last."

I nod again, slowly.

"This will come to pass, Clary. The Guardians will be exposed for the fraud they are, and they will be decimated. And when you find the answers we seek, us humans can fend for ourselves and be done with their tyranny."

There's nothing else for me to say.

I just nod, letting her words sink into me, letting them fill my heart, and I try not to notice how distant she is starting to look, to become.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Clarissa," Celine tells me, standing by the window as she watches the rain fall.

I simply sit on the couch, replaying the scene at my mother's apartment over in my mind. It only happened two hours ago, but it feels like years have passed since then. Years spent in my own mind, plotting.

"I know your mother feels this loss greatly, as well as you," Celine murmurs. Her eyes find mine and she cocks her head. "Where you extremely close to your aunt?"

"I've never met her," I say, my voice dull. "She…she was in a coma my whole life."

"I see." Celine nods her head a few times, her eyes distant yet searching. "But you've grown up loving her?"

It's not really a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes, of course. My mother and I used to visit her every Sunday in her hospital. Mother would tell me of their childhood together, tell me everything about her. After a while, it felt like I really knew her." I look down at my lap, thinking of my mother's dead eyes. I worry about her, wish I could be there with her now, but I can't leave the Wonderer for too long. The Guardians would not look well on that.

"Why was she in a coma?" Celine inquires.

I stiffen just slightly. "She was in an accident. She…fell from the top of a building."

"Oh, my. How horrible," Celine whispers, her eyes going wide and frightened. "I couldn't imagine…"

"I can't either," I say in response, not wanting to think about it anymore.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey," I respond back to Jace, looking at him carefully.

"May I come in for a minute?" he asks, arching his brows.

I nod and walk away from the door, letting him in behind me. I drift towards the cart of drinks Mr. Lamb brought up earlier, and I find a bottle of whiskey. I pour myself a glass, and then look to Jace. "Would you like one?"

He stares at the amber liquid a little longingly, but clears his throat and shakes his head. "No. Thank you."

I nod, disappointed. I had hoped that at least one thing would come out of this day—an excuse to get Jace to drink again. But it looks as though nothing good will happen. It's not meant to be, I suppose.

"I wanted to…apologize. For your aunt's death."

"It's not your fault," I murmur, taking a sip of the whiskey now that I've poured it. It tastes horrible and burns my throat sickeningly, but I have to keep nursing it or Jace will notice that I poured myself a glass for no reason—other than to entice him to join me.

"No, but I did want to express my…regrets, I guess."

"Thank you," I say coldly, taking another sip from my glass.

Jace stands hesitantly in the middle of the room, his hands running through his hair. I watch as his eyes flicker around nervously, and it would be humorous how uncomfortable he was in any other situation.

"Is there…uh, something I can do?"

I level my gaze with Jace's, and a thought suddenly comes to me. I ask, "Did your mother put you up to this?"

"Up to what?"

"To coming here and expressing your sorrows."

Jace's jaw tightens a little for a moment, but he is honest with me when he says, simply, "Yes."  
I nod. "Then you can go. You don't owe me anything, Jace."

"She told me to come, yes," he interjects quickly. "But I wanted to come…well, I didn't. Not really. I'm not…I don't like dealing with crying and loss. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Gee, I didn't even notice."

Jace ignores my remark and keeps talking. "I do…feel for you, however. It…I've lost people, as well. It's a horrible feeling."

"Who have you lost?" The question comes out clinically curious, not harsh at all, but Jace still pales slightly.

"A few uncles. A few friends." Jace pauses, his eyes flickering hesitantly to me before adding, in a rush, "My best friend died, too…a few years ago."

I cock my head at him, narrowing my eyes. "And you were obviously close?"

"Yes." Jace's voice comes out just slightly thick, and he quickly clears his throat. He walks over to the window, peering out and says, almost off-handedly, "He was like a brother to me." But I can see how very deeply Jace's hurt runs.

Interesting, but of no importance to me.

Of no importance to my mission.

That's all that matters now.

My mission.

"I have to leave tonight," Jace says suddenly, looking over at me. "I'm sorry, but it's Guardian business. Another breech, in the 14th border this time. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I wanted to tell you."

I sit down carefully on the edge of my chair and nod slowly, dully.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Jace asks stiffly.

I shake my head, meeting his eyes. "No."

He stands for a long time, looking at me as if he wants to say or ask something else, but then he just curtly inclines his head and says goodbye, leaving me be.

* * *

"Simon?"

He turns towards me hesitantly in the hallway, his eyes carefully guarded as I walk towards him. "Morning, Mrs. Wayland."

"Clary," I correct habitually. And then I smile, a slow and slightly seductive smile, meant to get exactly what I want. And I say, "Do you think you could give me a tour of the hotel?"

"Haven't you had a tour before?" he asks, a little suspiciously.

I simply lean forward, grab his arm delicately, and smile again. "Yes, but it was the boring one. I want the human one, the one with all the dirty secrets."

He stares at me hesitantly for a second, but then, something changes in him and he smiles back. "Secret tour, coming up."

* * *

**Tah-tah for now! (: Have a good weekend 'cause I won't be on here again until next week! (:**


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! I'm tired, but I decided to give y'all a few chapters, anyway! I'll probably give y'all Chapters 18-20 tonight, so enjoy! Oh, and like I said-I'm tired. So I don't take any responsibility for the typos I'm sure are more frequent than usual in this chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

"And what's that door lead to?" I inquire, my arm laced with Simon's as we drift through the rather dull, pastel-green colored hallway. The further up in the hotel we get, I notice that the golden, rich décor lessens and in its places takes a clinical, business feel.

"Oh. That's…that's one of the rooms that humans aren't allowed in. Actually, most of the rooms up here, we aren't allowed in. This is the last level we can even go on without permission."

I arch my brows, taking this information in. "Do you ever get permission?"

Simon's lips press together briefly, hesitantly. "Like twice."

"What's up there?"

Simon sighs. "I probably shouldn't tell you…"

"Why?" I ask with a small smile, leaning into him slightly. "Do you think I'm some nefarious spy?"

Simon chuckles a little and shakes his head. "No. It's just…well, I don't guess it'll hurt. The upper levels are their tactical rooms—and their storage rooms. Weapon rooms. Training rooms. It's all Guardians-only—the top secret stuff."

"Should there really be secrets?"

Simon shrugs. "I don't think so—especially when the point of the Guardianship is to protect us humans, not treat us like crap. But the reality is…just look around. All these Guardians have secrets—more secrets than anyone. They're not only keeping secrets from humans, but secrets from each other."

"Really? Like what?"

"Affairs and so forth. They're all a bunch of power hungry, lusty people—in my opinion. But…there's no need for you to repeat that."

I laugh slightly. "Simon, you're far too nervous. You forget that I'm a human, as well."

"But you're married to a Guardian—a powerful one, at that," he adds, a little darkly as he begins leading me back to the elevator.

"The marriage was not my idea, of course. I feel not particular loyalty to Jace, as horrible as that may sound. My loyalty lies with my own race, of course," I say, patting his arm.

He frowns slightly and hits the call button for the elevator, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as we wait. "Yeah, well. Just wait."

"I beg your pardon?" I ask softly.

Simon's eyes find mine, his expression grim. "Wait. In a few months, you'll be eating out of Jace's palm."

I arch a brow slowly. "Oh? What makes you think that?"

Simon shrugs, looking away sharply, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin. "All the girls like him."

"I'm not like most girls, Simon, as clichéd as that saying. I like to think I have a bit more pride in myself than to give into Jace's shallow charms."

Simon is shaking his head. "You don't understand. It's not just about Jace. It's about these people in general. They're like…they're like a disease. They infect. Normal humans become…become different around them. The Guardians…they have their secrets and their plots, and it gets everyone all jumbled. And caught up in the middle."

The elevator screeches up to us, and the attendant is opening the doors for us.

Simon just glances over at me once more, his eyes serious and his mouth set in a thin line. "Even the strongest people get pulled down into it."

* * *

"Are you feeling well?" I ask Celine.

She stands by my window, as usual, peering out. "Yes, thank you. I worry, though…worry about my Jace. And the others, too." She blinks once, twice—as if trying to clear something from her mind. "How are you dealing with your loss?"

I've put the loss out of my mind. It serves as a motivator when I need it, but otherwise, it will only bog me down. I have to focus on one thing.

"I'm dealing with it," is all I say.

Celine nods, fiddling with a golden cross necklace hanging from around her throat. She catches me staring at the dainty little piece of jewelry and smiles. "This was a gift from Valentine when we were first married. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's very lovely," I agree, smiling softly.

Celine looks down at it, still twisting her fingers into the thin chain. "I don't know what happened. Valentine…he was a curious man—always. Very…motivated. Very smart, as well. Charismatic. But he's changed over the years…I think it's the power. Power corrupts, you know. It's twisted him. Made him darker than he was before. Poisoned him." Her clear eyes flicker up to meet mine, startlingly intent. "That's why I like you, Clarissa. That's why I have hope for Jace—because you are his wife now. Perhaps you can help him stay the course when he comes to power. Perhaps you can do better than I did with my own husband."

"Not everything falls on you, Celine," I say. "I'm sure Valentine has made his own choices."

"He has, but I fear sometimes…I _know_—that some of blame falls on me. I have always been so very…un-present. It's hard for me, most of the time, to be _here_, in the same world with my family. It's gotten worse as the years pass. I find myself floating sometimes…as if I'm leaving my body and simply ceasing to exist." Celine's voice lilts lyrically, her voice whisper soft. She blinks and laughs once. "I suppose I'm crazy. That's what everyone says."

I smooth down my skirt as I perch on the edge of my couch, watching the strange woman carefully. "I haven't heard anyone say such."

"They wouldn't say it to you, I doubt. You're my daughter-in-law now. If you were to tell Jace, he'd kill them. Although, I believe he sometimes ponders my sanity, as well." Celine leans forward and breaths against the glass of the window before drawing a scrawling flower in the mist. "I am crazy. That's the only logical explanation, ironically. But I'd rather be crazy than some of the other things people are around here."

"Such as?"

"Liars." Celine's expression darkens, her eyes finding mine. She's frowning, now, almost stormy. "Cheats. I can't stand them. I can't stand any of them. That's what makes it so very hard…for me to be here. I don't want to be sometimes. Sometimes I do just want to float away, from all this—from all the secrets. The dishonesty is what kills me. It drains the life out of my slowly, leaving me so frail and sick. I can't stomach it."

"Is everyone here dishonest?" I ask.

"Most everyone," Celine murmurs. She blows on the glass again, drawing another picture. This time, it's different. It's words, but I can't quite read them from my angle as she continues with, "You'll see in time. You'll see that the higher the ladder they go, the more secrets they have. The higher the Wonderer goes, the more secrets there are. But everyone has secrets, don't they, Clarissa?" She smiles as she asks this, and then she drifts away, leaving my room without another word.

I quickly get up and breathe against the glass so that I may see what she's written. In looping cursive, she's written: _Secrets chip away at the soul_.

* * *

"Clary?"

I wake with a start, sitting up rapidly, my head spinning. I fumble for the lamp at my bedside, flipping it on and staring up at Jace in pure shock.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, placing a hand on my chest, feeling my heart pound beneath my fingertips.

"I'm sorry." Jace looks a little panicked. He's wearing strange clothes—black, thick pants, with a black t-shirt, stained darker in places than others—with his hair all mused up. I realize belatedly that he's just come back from fighting. There's a cut seeping blood on his neck, and there's dirt and sweat crusted on his arms.

"What's happened?" I ask sharply.

"I just didn't know what to do. My mom…I can't find her. I didn't know…" Jace is pacing back and forth beside my bed now, running his fingers through his hair over and over again.

"Jace." My voice comes out strong. "What is wrong with you?"

"Not me," he mumbles, shaking his head. "It's…shit, Clary. I don't know how to tell her. I don't even know what happened myself—"

"Tell who? You have to tell me what you're talking about," I say coldly.

Jace halts suddenly, his face twisting. His eyes find mine, and they are soft gold, filled with something like sorrow. I don't think I've ever seen him look so unguarded before. "It's Izzy."

"What about her?" I ask quickly, feeling my stomach twist just slightly.

"They asked me to tell her…because…because of how close we are." He's rubbing at the side of his jaw now, rapidly, over and over—a nervous tick.

"Tell her what, Jace?" I demand, glaring at him in irritation and slight panic.

Does it have something to do with what Valentine and Sebastian were talking about the other night? Has someone hurt Isabelle in some way?

The thought sends a shock of trepidation down my spine. Isabelle is horrible and crude, but I realize with grim surprise that I've become slightly fond of her.

But it's not her—not her directly.

I know when Jace says, "It's…Sebastian."

"What about him?" I ask, but I already know.

"He's dead."


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Looked over/replied to all my amazing reviews just now! Thank y'all SO much! I also want to thank the people that were guests that reviewed, as well. I can't respond to y'all directly, of course, but I can thank you here. Also, wanted to bring up, someone mentioned that the story seemed to be revolving around Jace and Clary just having sex, that the story was loosing his/her interest because of the build-up and no follow through. I swear I'm not trying to call you out, and I'm not upset or anything either. I enjoy this kind of constructive criticism and I wanted to respond to it, as well.**

**In a story set in such a fantasy world, I feel as though you have to focus on character development and keeping that development realistic. It's the only way to make the story itself feel real, is if the characters FEEL real. So, I don't believe Clary and Jace would just jump in bed together because they're feeling horny. There will have to be a bigger reason than that for them to seal the deal. If they did just have sex, I don't think that would be realistic for their characters-Jace, maybe but not Clary.**

**I understand that it feels like we're at a point now where if Clary does have sex with Jace, it won't be because she loves him or likes him-it will be for some other reason. I know that isn't ideal, but real life isn't always ideal. When/if Clary and Jace have sex, it most likely won't be because Clary is all love-struck. It will be for another motive entirely. Is that awesome? No. But in real life, it's not always rainbows and butterflies so I don't think the actions of these characters should be either.**

**I realize I sound defensive, but I'm not trying to be, I PROMISE! I thank the person who gave me that review because I love hearing what I can improve on. Because of the review, I will work on my pacing and will not be quite so "teasing" in Jace and Clary's relationship and hope that I regain your interest and haven't offended you in any way. I just also wanted to give y'all some of my motivation.**

**Ok. So super long explanation is OVER! YAY! Now, enjoy! **

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

Isabelle is crying.

She's hugging Jace, as she has been for the last ten minutes. Her face is buried in his neck, and when she moves a little, I see the snot she's leaving behind but Jace just holds her—stiffly but without complaint.

Due to Jace's insistence, I went with him to tell Isabelle. I held her hand as he told her. She started crying immediately, blubbering about how she'd miss him, how she'd really, really liked him.

I lean against the wall now, watching as a few more Guardians drift into the room to pay their respects, and I think of how, after Isabelle and Sebastian have been married three years now, that after his death, all she can say is that she "really, really liked" him. Not loved. Just liked.

Celine ghosts past, appearing out of nowhere beside me and walking towards Isabelle. She touches Isabelle's shoulder gently, not speaking, and Isabelle immediately turns into her, hugging her tight and releasing Jace.

He looks relieved.

There are more people coming in now, more murmurs filling the room, and I glance around at all the somber faces carefully, trying to pick out who looks genuine and who is just here for appearances. It can be hard to tell. These people are professional liars, after all.

"Clary?"

I find Jace's eyes as he comes to stand in front of me. He's rubbing at a gash on his arm, getting dirt in it.

"You should get that looked at," I say, inclining my chin towards the cut.

Jace isn't listening to me. He's looking around with a slightly unfocused gaze, his mind obviously somewhere else. "Yeah," he mumbles.

"Jonathan," comes a rather loud, firm female voice.

We both glance over to find a rail-thin, tall woman with colorless hair pulled back sharply. Her bony hands are laced together tightly in front of her, and she's wearing a suit—with pants, not a skirt—which is quite the statement in such a society as there is at the Wonderer.

"Imogen," Jace mutters, his jaw tight.

"I need to speak with you," she says. Her gray eyes flicker over to me, taking me in—making her cold judgments. "On Sebastian's death."

"I'm busy at the moment."

"You were with him when died. You have to come with me, so that I can put in the records what has transpired," Imogen presses on, without much emotion in her voice—except maybe defensiveness and demand.

Jace's eyes snap over to her, and he's suddenly very present, his face hard and his gaze focused, angry. "He got killed by a demon, Imogen. Got his body burned up by its blood, and it ate away his skin like acid. I held him as he died, and he cried like a child and pissed himself. Is _that_ sufficient enough for you?"

"There's no need for such hostility," Imogen says deadly. "I'm just doing my job."

"Your job," Jace says tightly, his voice firm and holding a strange tone of authority, despite the gray in Imogen's hair, the lines around her eyes and mouth, "is to do what needs to be done _when_ it needs to be done. Sebastian hasn't even been dead twelve hours."

"I know this is a personal issue for you, seeing as how you were with the deceased as he died, but—" Imogen starts mechanically but with a little bit of anger flashing in her cold eyes.

"Imogen," Jace says, his voice shaking slightly with a note of unrestrained fury underneath. He gets very close to her, dropping his voice to a dangerous whisper. "If you do not remove yourself from my presence within the next few seconds, I will make sure you're doing a job that betters suits your personality—maybe janitorial."

Imogen's thin lips flatten even further, a sharp, knife-thin line. "You don't have that kind of authority."

Jace's anger makes his voice slow and deliberate and chillingly calm. "Do you want to test me and find out?"

Imogen's eyes tighten, her mouth pressing together so tightly that her lips turn white. After a long, tense moment of staring, she backs down visibly, dipping her head slightly in submission. "I will speak you in the future, then."

"I suppose it's unavoidable," Jace mutters grimly.

Imogen is already turning away, walking stiffly towards the door. She only pauses once, to look back over her shoulder at me. And her eyes narrow.

* * *

"This is my fault," Jace says.

We stand by the front door of my room, just coming in after Isabelle told everyone to get out, that she was tired and needed some time to herself.

Jace is leaning against the wall, staring down at the floor hollowly. His body is tense, his hands in fists by his sides.

I'm unsure of what to do, so I let my instincts take over. My hand goes out, smoothing over his bicep, which is hard and covered with the filth from his battle.

His eyes find mine, the gold of his irises cold and tired. "I haven't seen Isabelle so upset since…" Jace trails off for a moment, clearing his throat once, harshly. "In a long time. I haven't seen her this upset in a long time."

"Since what?" I prod gently.

Jace swallows visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Since her brother died."

I think back, think to what Isabelle has told me over the last few weeks of knowing her. Always Jace and…Alec. Jace and Alec taught me this. Jace and Alec let me do this. Jace and Alec are the best…

"Alec," I say. "Is Alec her brother?"

"Was," is Jace's soft response. He looks down at his hands, spreads his fingers, which are long and strong, covered in dirt, crusted with blood.

"He was your friend, wasn't he? Your best friend—the one you told me about passing the together day," I guess.

"Yeah." Jace picks at some flaking blood on his palm. "It's funny. You think you know about death, that you understand it and aren't affected by it anymore, and then…well, I guess it never gets less horrible."

I go silent for a moment, my mind working. I'm curious as to what happened, curious on a slightly distant level. And now is the time to comfort Jace, to make him trust me more.

My hand smoothes down his arm, over his tense forearm, to his hand. I lace my fingers with his gently, and his eyes flicker up to mine, meeting them with a little bit of surprise.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

Jace inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes go back down, to the floor this time. "It was my fault, Clary," he murmurs, so softly that I have to strain to hear. "I got reckless. I pushed too much. Sebastian was just trying to watch my back—keep me safe—and some demon got hit, splattered his blood all over the place—all over Sebastian. It ate his skin up like acid, slowly. He was begging me to just end it for him, to get him out of his misery—to put him down like a dog."

I swallow once against the bile that has risen in my throat. Such a horrible, agonizing way to die. I actually feel sorry for Sebastian—for a Guardian. I thought it was something that was beyond me, but I would wish for no one to die in such a way.

"Did you?" I whisper, horrifyingly curious. "Did you kill him?"

Jace's jaw tightens and he looks to the side, his silence all the answer I need.

We stand for a long time without speaking. My mind in wandering, thinking, plotting. Jace, I think, must be relieving Sebastian's last moments, over and over, because his eyes are the most distant and dull I have ever seen them.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask Jace rather suddenly.

His eyes flash to mine, almost disbelieving. Our hands are still interlaced, and he glances down at them for a brief moment before meeting my eyes again and simply nodding.

I open the door with my free hand, pulling him inside. Glancing at him from over my shoulder, I murmur, "You should get cleaned up. I have a feeling that today will be a busy day."

"Yeah."

I wait for a moment, wait for him to make a move towards the door, but he doesn't. So I turn to face him and ask, "Would you like to use my bathroom?"

Jace's eyes skip up to mine, his face unreadable. He clears his throat after a moment, but his voice is still thick as he says, "I don't have any clean clothes here."

"I can call for some clothes to be brought here."

"I can just go back to my room," Jace says dismissively, looking back down at the floor.

"Just let me call for some clothes," I return finally, letting go of his hand, walking over to the phone and asking for some of Jace's clothes to be brought to my room.

We only wait in strange silence for five minutes before there's a knock on the door and I retrieve the neat stack of Jace's pants and shirt. I walk back into the living room with them, eyeing him as he sits on the edge of the chair by the window, his body tense. "I'll go start the water for you," I say, not allowing him to argue.

I make my way into the bathroom, sitting Jace's clothes on the counter, and then turning on the shower. The water beats down, steaming hot, filling the bathroom with warm haze.

Once I'm assured the water is as hot as it needs to be, I turn back—and then gasp.

Jace is right behind me, standing way too close, causing my heart to nearly stop for a moment.

"Jesus," I manage, placing my hand on my chest. I can feel my heart pounding beneath my fingertips. "You scared me."

Jace doesn't respond, just stares at me with slightly confused, narrowed eyes. I know he doesn't trust me, me and my sudden kindness. I have to be careful.

After a second of hesitation, I reach out, placing my palms on his hard chest. I stretch up on my toe, barely managing to brush my lips over his without his assistance. His mouth is a little stiff under mine, but I don't let that discourage me.

I drop back to my feet and run my hands down slowly over his chest, feeling the muscles under his shirt tighten as I go over them, and then I'm at the hem of his shirt, gathering it and pulling it up. Jace watches me carefully for a brief moment before he lifts up his arms, allowing me to take his shirt up as much as my short reach can manage, and then he's taking it the rest of the way off.

My fingers trace the lines over his chest and stomach languidly before I take a step back from him and look down at my robe, which is tied over my silken nightgown tightly.

It will be dawn in a few hours, and I don't see myself being able go back to sleep anyway. So I untie the front strings of the robe and then pull it apart, letting it slide off my shoulders and pool behind me, at my feet.

Jace's eyes roam over my short little gown, his face expressionless.

I open the door to the shower, letting the steam billow out around us, and I reach for Jace, pulling him closer to me. Then my hands go to his belt, unfastening it, and then to the fly of his pants, unzipping it.

I feel his eyes on me as I grip the tops of his pants and shove them down, and I don't let his searching gaze unnerve me. I just grab his wrists and pull him into the spray of hot water with me, with him still in his plain black boxers and myself in my nightgown.

Jace hisses in pain, glancing down to where the water touches the side of his calf, which is inflamed and horribly raw-looking.

"What happened?" I ask in shock, reaching down as if to touch the wound, but Jace quickly grabs my hand, halting its progress.

My eyes find his looking down on me, and he says, "What are you doing, Clary?"

I stare up at him, blinking at the water sprays from my shoulders, into my eyes, clinging on my lashes. I twist my hand in his hold until I'm free and then I grab for the bar soap, handing it over to Jace. "Trying to help," I reply.

Jace takes the soap from me hesitantly and runs it over his arms, his chest, washing away the dirt and blood from his golden skin. I shampoo my hair as he does this, thankful that the shower is large enough for us to both stand without touching each other.

My heart is pounding, knowing how close he is, what I'm doing. I'm not trying to seduce him tonight, just help him to trust me, but we are in a shower together and I think Jace must realize the gravity of this situation.

And when I feel his lips ghost over my neck and shoulder, I know he does.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: Last update for the night! Enjoy, y'all and please review! Y'all are the best EVER! (:**

* * *

Chapter Twenty

When I don't pull away from Jace's lips, he kisses me again, this time on the jaw. I feel his arms snake around me, feel his hot hands touch my legs and move up over my hips, under the skirt of my drenched nightgown.

I feel myself leaning back against him despite myself, my eyes fluttering close because his touch does feel good. There's no point in denying it to myself. It's what my body craves, though—not my mind.

His hands move up, to my hips, and then he's spinning me around to face him. I see he's frowning just slightly, so I lean up and brush my lips against his, to distract him from the obvious suspicion seeping into his mind.

Jace tenses a little but doesn't pull away from me. So I press my lips to his again, more firmly this time, and then I nip at his bottom lip.

Jace makes a soft sound, not really a groan, but almost—a sound of quiet surrender. He pulls away from me just slightly, and now his eyes sleepy yet alive with desire, and his hand comes up, cupping my cheek, his thumb dragging roughly over my lower lip.

I purse my mouth slightly, kissing the tip of his thumb, watching his eyes with mine, watching as they darken.

I grab his wrist and pull his hand away from my mouth slightly, only to bring his index finger up to my lips. I kiss it, too. And then move to his middle finger and so on, pressing tender, soft and suggestive kisses to each fingertip, keeping my eyes locked with Jace's lusty ones, watching as his lips part slightly as he _watches_ me.

"Clary," he groans suddenly, his face tightening. He grabs me, pulling up from the shower floor slightly, pressing me against him. His face is pushed into my neck, his breathing hot and ragged against my damp skin. "What are you doing to me?"

I smile slightly, my eyelids fluttering shut as I tilt my head back and allow him better access, just as I wind my fingers into his wet hair tightly.

Jace drags his lips across my throat, then trails them up over my chin, finding my lips once again. His kiss is hot and needy but slow, maddeningly slow. Languid and demanding. Desperate—desperate to forget everything he's gone through this last night.

I remove one of my hands from his hair and grope blindly for his own hand, finding it and bringing it up, placing it on my shoulder and then dragging it lower, down to my breast.

He does exactly what I want him to, without hesitation. He squeezes my flesh, making me gasp softly against his mouth, igniting that ache between my legs, making it so much worse.

He kisses me harder, distracting me momentarily from what his hand is doing, until I feel his rough, calloused fingertips against the bare skin of my breast, and I gasp sharply this time, looking down just as I watch him roll my hardened nipple between his fingers.

"Jace," I groan sharply, squeezing my legs together, trying to get some sort of relief from the nagging, almost painful throbbing there.

Then he's lowering his head, and I don't know what he's doing to do until he kisses my breast, just a light brush of his lips, but even the lightest touch is felt in such a sensitive area, and I fist my hands in his hair, biting my lip to keep from groaning again.

His eyes flicker up to mine from underneath his lashes, and he sees me, trying desperately to retain some sense, and the ghost of a smile flashes over his lips before he takes my nipple into his mouth and begins sucking, licking, biting.

I can't control myself anymore. My body arches against him desperately, frantic thoughts scattering through my mind as I writhe in almost-ecstasy.

Then Jace is reaching towards my shoulders, pulling the straps of my nightgown down and removing it from me, exposing me entirely to him. It drops to my feet, leaving me only in my panties, forgotten as Jace switches to my other breast, placing his mouth on it, as well, while his hand caresses my other.

"Jace…oh! Jace, no, wait," I gasp disjointedly, holding his head even tighter to me despite my words.

His only response is dropping his hand from my breast, slipping down over my stomach, between my legs, cupping me roughly as his mouth runs hotly over my chest.

I moan. Loudly. Shockingly loud.

"Jace," I say, and it comes out as a whine as I press myself down on his hand as best I can, my movements frantic and just slightly awkward, unknowing. "Jace…"

"What, Clary?" he rasps into my ear suddenly, pressing me against his chest. He sounds almost angry. "What do you want? Tell me."

My sensitive nipples brush against his bare skin, and I gasp. "I…I don't know."

"Yes, you do," he murmurs hotly, his hands suddenly going to grab my legs. And then I'm slamming back against the shower wall, his hands pulling my legs around his waist, squeezing me towards him, bringing us together so that I can _feel_ him. He's so hard, and he's right _there_, right at where I'm throbbing and swollen-feeling. It feels good and scary at the same time, and I find myself pressing into the very tip of his erection curiously.

We both groan at the sensation.

Yes, it definitely feels good.

"Jace, I…" I'm not sure what to say. I'm so disoriented and lust-filled that I can't think straight. I can't tell him what I want because I don't know. I just know I need _something_.

Relief.

I need relief.

Jace's eyes find mine through the steam of the shower, and they are so hot and alive that I can't look away as I feel his fingers gripping my upper legs tightly, feel him begin to start driving his erection against me, rhythmically, slowly, harshly.

My hands go to his hair, my fingers tightening into his hair in desperation, needing something to hold onto, to keep me grounded.

Jace pushes me up the wall with each thrust against me, and his lips suddenly find my breasts again, placing hot, quick and wet kisses against my skin, his tongue teasingly brushing against my nipples occasionally.

"Jace," I moan, my head falling back against the shower wall heavily. The steam is getting thicker, harder to breathe in, or maybe the reason for my respiration troubles are due to something else entirely.

My eyes clench shut, my heart pounding harder than its ever pounded before as Jace grinds roughly against me, unrelenting.

I feel strange, unimaginable. I can't describe how I'm feeling except overwhelmed. My body is about to do something its never done before, and I gasp out a slightly frightened, "Jace, wait…I…I feel…"

At my breathless words, Jace's movements against me get more feverish, stronger and faster.

Everything is building inside me, feeling restless and terrifying and exquisite in its newness.

And then everything stops, halts.

There's nothing but me and my pleasure, which radiates through me like pure light, filling me up. I'm lost amongst the pleasure, and the only thing I can feel is Jace's hot breath against my neck and everything inside me tightening, pulsing. That's it—no tiles digging into my back, no hot water scalding my skin, or uncomfortable grit against my skin from the shower wall. There's just him and me and my ecstasy.

I hear him groan against my neck, feel him shudder and tremble against me, and the hands on my legs tighten painfully tight, his body rocking slowly against mine.

Then it's over, and I'm left panting and gasping, unsure of what just happened.

Jace lets go of me suddenly, as if he's unable to hold me up anymore, and I drop down to the ground, almost falling on my shaky legs if not for my hold on his shoulders.

His lips are at my tremble, his breathing coming in pants that match mine.

I move my hands down his chest, brushing gently over his sides, and he moves his head so that our eyes can meet.

He looks like I feel—satisfied yet surprised. Surprised and weary.

But he doesn't say anything, and neither do I.

His forehead just falls against mine gently, his hands skimming down over my arms carefully, and we just stare at each other as we catch our breath and the shower water finally runs cold.

* * *

"You look beautiful," I tell Isabelle as I stand next to her in front of the mirror.

Her eyes are red-rimmed, but her makeup and hair is flawless for the first time in the two days she's known of Sebastian's death. I've spent the last hour making sure this is so, seeing as how the Guardians seem to enjoy judging as much as they do lying. Isabelle is under enough fire from her peers, it seems, and I don't want them to have any more ammunition against her—especially today.

"Thank you," she says hoarsely. Dully.

"Do you need anything else? Do you want to do your hair a different way, maybe?" I inquire, eyeing her chignon carefully.

"No." Isabelle's eyes are welling up again.

"Is there anything else I can do?" I ask softly, my eyes finding hers in the reflection.

"Clary," she chokes out, almost panicked. "I'm scared."

My eyebrows arch up in surprise. "Scared? Of the ceremony tonight? I'm sure it will be a lovely service—nothing to be afraid of—"

Isabelle's head shakes back and forth violently. "No, no. Not about that."

"Then…what?" I put my hand gently on her arm, urging her on.

A few fat tears spill over, rolling down her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembles, her body shivering. I see her swallow a few times before she can whisper, "I'm pregnant."

* * *

**Let me know what y'all think! (:**


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! So, I usually post a new chapter each day before reading my reviews from the previous night. It's just the way I do it, but today, for some reason, I did it backwards and read the reviews first-which I am glad I did so I can go ahead and address the repeated question I found. No, Jace and Clary did NOT have sex in the shower. I apologize for not making that more clear. It's totally my fault. I get to writing and I know what's true and what's not and I take that for granted because the reader may or may not know certain things. So, NO. Jace and Clary did not have sex. As one hilarious reviewer put it, they were "underwear-on wet humping." I liked that definition of it! So there was no nakedness below the waist for either of them. They were both wearing panties (though, I suppose if you want to be over-technical about it, Jace was wearing "UNDERWEAR" though I don't know why guys insist on boxers or briefs being called underwear versus panties, whatever). Anyway, enjoy this next chapter! I will be posting a few times today because I have nothing to do ALLLLLL day! YEAH!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

I see Jace's golden hair amongst the masses of Guardians in the chapel.

The arched glass ceiling gives an unhindered view of the night sky above, but tonight, unlike my wedding night, it is dulled and darkened by some sort of technology—keeping the starlight from being too cheerful.

The low murmur of voices rises up around me as I try to force my way through the crowds towards Jace. The Guardians around me don't wear black, but a variance of colors, no set pattern. But everyone holds a black cloak on their arm, just like the one I was given to put on before the ceremony.

"Jace," I say when I reach his elbow.

He turns towards me, and I see he's gotten a shorter haircut, one that makes him look a bit older, more professional, in a way. He's healthier looking than the last time I saw him two days ago, _in the shower_, but his eyes are the same—muted.

"Clary," he murmurs in greeting. His arm lifts and wraps around my waist, something that I notice most of the Guardian men doing with their wives—a possessive bunch.

But I don't bristle and push away from him. I have a role to play here.

"I need to speak with you," I tell Jace quietly. "In private."

"Now?"

"Yes," I say, expecting an argument from him. In only a few minutes, Sebastian's service will start.

But Jace just inclines his head and begins leading me through the masses, up a hidden staircase and towards an upper hall, one I suspect will lead to the balcony boxes.

It's quiet and empty here, so Jace halts and turns towards me. "What is it?"

We haven't seen or spoken to each other since the shower incident, but he doesn't appear as if he's going to bring it up anytime soon—and neither will I.

"It's Isabelle," I say slowly.

A pucker forms between Jace's eyebrows. "What about her?"

I glance around us once to make sure there are no eavesdroppers, and I say, "She's pregnant."

Jace stares at me blankly for a second. "With Sebastian's child?"

"Yes, of course," I say, giving him a look.

But he ignores me. He's just looking at a spot above my shoulder, the wheels in his mind turning. Then, everything sinks in and he says, "Fuck." He runs his hands up his face and into his hair, pulling at the strands that are so much shorter now. "Is she panicking?"

I shrug. "She's not exactly thrilled. I'm not sure that she wanted a child at all. And now, she will have one—but no husband to help her raise it. I think Sebastian was the one that wanted a child to begin with."

Jace frowns in confusion, pausing in the pacing he had begun. "No, he didn't."

I tilt my head. "Well, neither did Isabelle. She told me that Sebastian was the one pressuring her to have a child."

"He didn't want kids yet. He told me so," Jace says, shaking his head. "He said he didn't feel like he was ready to be a father yet."

I display just the right amount of bewilderment at this. "Do you think Sebastian could have changed his mind in the last few weeks?"

Jace sighs, his hands resting on his hips. "I don't know. Maybe. I haven't talked with him in a while…"

I nod carefully. "Well, I just thought I should tell you about Isabelle. She's been so busy, she might not get to see you herself."

"I appreciate it," Jace says mechanically, his eyes fixed on nothing at the floor.

I pause for a moment before beginning to walk back towards the steps, down into the chapel, but Jace isn't following. "Are you coming?"

He looks haunted now, obviously remembering something—perhaps Sebastian's last moments—before he blinks himself back into the present and nods. "Yeah."

* * *

I've planted the seeds.

Throughout the ceremony, I watch as Jace's eyes get distant. I watch as his eyes flicker over to his father and then back to the priest, who speaks of Sebastian's life and his accomplishments. I see the wheels in Jace's mind turning.

Though he has many faults, being stupid is not one of them—something that can be dangerous but comes in handy during this point in time.

Then the priest is telling us to bring up the hoods of our cloak. Small, warm glowing paper lanterns are being handed out, given to each one of the hundreds of Guardians in the massive chapel.

Then the priest says, "Now, as one, we wish Sebastian Verlac farewell."

The Guardians around me all murmur something in Latin that I cannot understand, and then everyone holds their hands up and lets the lanterns go. I let mine go, as well, though wondering where, exactly, they will go.

But then the arched glass ceiling opens up, and the hundreds of floating, soft-glowing lanterns are being released into the sky, and it's a stunningly beautiful sight. I tilt my head back and watch as they drift, becoming stars of their own against the navy backdrop of the sky, and I'm in awe.

Most of the Guardians begin to take their cloaks off and drift away, down the aisles and towards the doors, but I'm unable to move.

I glance over to Jace, expecting his eyes to still be on Valentine suspiciously, but his eyes are on mine, warm and golden, like the light from the lanterns above. He reaches out, pushes the cloak back from my face gently, and then brushes his thumb over my bottom lip lightly.

"Let's go," he says.

I nod, trying not to be disturbed by his sudden gentleness.

* * *

We go to the dinning room like everyone else.

Isabelle is there, eating her food with Celine by her side, as group after group of Guardians come to pay their respects.

Jace and I take our usual seat in the corner, though, not going over to wait in the long vying for Isabelle's attention. I know Jace would rather just speak with her alone after what I've told him.

We sit together in silence, eating our dinner slowly. I notice Jace keeps looking over at me from across the table, his face cryptic, and finally, when I catch him for the seventh time, I sit my fork down and ask, "What? Is something wrong?"

Jace drops his own fork. It clatters against his plate as he leans back in his chair, sprawling in that arrogant way of his though there's nothing but frustrated curiosity in his face tonight. "I'm just wondering what exactly has gotten into you."

"Me?" I inquire dully. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Jace leans forward suddenly, his face a little disgusted. "Cut the bullshit, Clary. I'm not in the mood to hear it."

"Do you have some sort of personality disorder?" I ask in sarcastic curiosity, my face calm. "Because one moment, you seem like a slightly acceptable human being and the next you're being a bastard for all the world to see."

Jace's hands come down against the table, rattling the dishes, but he does it in a way that catches no attention from the close-by groups of Guardians. "Out of the two of us, you're the one more susceptible to sudden and mind-boggling mood changes. One second you're frigid and the next you're yanking me into the shower with you."

I glance around sharply, making sure no one's overheard him, and then I lean across the table, so that we are close together and I can lower my voice. "I was trying to be a good wife."

"Since when do you give a shit about that?"

"I've told you, I am loyal to the role I'm expected to play."

"You're loyal to yourself, Clary. Don't try to kid yourself—or me." Jace's glare is so hot that it's hard to look directly at him. "I'm trying to figure out if you're playing some sort of game here or if you're just clinically insane. Those are the only two options."

"This is hardly the time to discuss your opinions of me, Jace," I snap coldly, sitting back into my seat, signaling that I am done arguing with him in such a public setting.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he announces, dropping back into his own chair and glaring off to the side, refusing to look at me.

"Well, the feeling is mutual, darling," I reply coolly, picking up my fork again.

"I'm going to figure out what you're up to, you know. It's just a matter of time." Jace places his elbow on the table, brushes his knuckles across his lips as his eyes roam the dinning room, resting on the faces of his fellow Guardians briefly. "I'm going to figure out what everyone is up to."

"Quite the undertaking, it would seem. You Guardians seem very fond of your secrets."

"Ironic, coming from you, don't you think?" Jace inquires, his eyes flickering over to me, daring me to meet them.

But I don't. I just look down at my salad as I mix in my dressing. "I don't have any secrets, Jace—at least not any that would interest you. You're just far too paranoid. Besides, I don't think that I should be the one you worry about out of the rest of liars in this hotel."

"Always worry about the pretty ones," Jace mutters, glaring over at me.

I meet his eyes this time and give a sickly sweet smile. "You think I'm pretty?" I ask in a breathless tone.

"Keep pushing, Clary. Don't think I can't make your life a living hell."

"And don't think I don't have the same power," I bluff.

Jace laughs humorlessly. "I've got chills."

I open my mouth to respond, almost at the edge of loosing my cool indifference in my tone, when we are suddenly interrupted by Valentine's presence as he drops into the available seat diagonal to us.

"Jonathan, Clary," he says, nodding to us both in turn.

"Father, do you think you could come back later? You're just interrupting a very heated, slightly sexy argument, in which Clary is endeavoring to tell me how much power she has over me," Jace says smartly, giving me a fake smile.

I feel my cheeks rush with blood as Valentine just blinks and shakes his head. "Jonathan, please. Don't be so ridiculous."

"Yes, sir," he says sarcastically.

But Valentine gracefully ignores him and simply looks at me as he says, "I'm glad to inform you, Clary, that your new room is ready."

"New room?" I ask with a frown.

"Yes, during this horrible time, maybe this, at least, will be of some solace to you. Your room will be right next to Isabelle's, now," Valentine murmurs. "And, you will be sharing it with Jonathan."

Jace chokes on his water, mid-swallow. "What?" he demands once he's regained some control of himself.

I, on the other hand, am just staring at Valentine in dead shock.

"Yes. I've talked it through with Mr. Lamb, and we've arranged for you two to have your rooms combined—much more space but where you will now be together," Valentine says. "Surely you didn't expect not to have to live with Clary, did you, Jonathan?"

"Couples that have an arranged marriage are allowed to have separate rooms for as long as they please," Jace growls through clenched teeth. "If they want to share an apartment, they may, but they don't _have_ to. You did this on purpose."

"And what purpose is that?" Valentine asks coolly.

Jace is turning a deep scarlet color, his eyes on fire, his jaw tight. "Don't think that I don't see through you. This is all about control, isn't it? Well, I'm not going to be in your control forever."

"Aren't you?" Valentine inquires, his voice dripping with sarcastic curiosity.

"You can't control me from the grave," Jace mutters.

Valentine is standing, smoothing out his impeccable suit, and his hand falls against Jace's shoulder. I see his fingers tighten against Jace's muscle, see his fingers turn white with the pressure he's applying. "Because you are my son, I won't take that as a threat."

"Maybe you should," Jace says doggedly, and despite all his shortcomings, I am slightly admiring of his determination, his bull-headed tenacity. Although I fear this particular trait will soon be turned against me.

Valentine smiles a tight smile that barely conceals his fury. The hand he has on Jace looks as though it must be hurting him. "Do not make the mistake in thinking that just because you are nearly grown that I will not beat you into a pulp just as I did when you were a child."

"I'd never make the mistake of doubting your desire for the chance of violence or humiliation for me," Jace snaps, jerking his father's hand from his shoulder.

They both glare at each other, their bodies taut and trembling slightly with restrained power, and I see them both erupting into a dogfight at any moment.

So I clear my throat. "I'm pleased by the new room, Valentine. I think it's a lovely idea to make Jace and I closer."

The statement has the desired effect.

They both back down so that they can look over at me—Valentine in smug pleasure and Jace in dirty accusation.

"You should be lucky your wife is so level-headed," Valentine murmurs.

"I'm jumping for fucking joy."

"Jonathan, language is not polite in the company of a lady."

"Where's a lady?" Jace pretends to glance around curiously before looking over at me.

We exchange sickly sweet smiles like children taunting each other, but Valentine just pushes onward with, "Well, Clary, your things will be sent to your new room momentarily. You will go to that room tonight, as well as you, Jonathan."

And then he's walking away and there's nothing at all left to say on the matter. It has been decided for us, just like everything else.

* * *

**Hmmmm. How y'all feel 'bout Jace and Clary now being roomies? Let me know!  
**


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long, y'all. I got distracted by old family photos my mom sent me. ANYWAY, enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

"I'm not sleeping on the couch."

I blink at Jace's sudden statement. We've just walked into the grand, ridiculously luxurious penthouse, and we're standing in the living area, surveying all the golden and pale décor, the white rugs and the white moldings and the crème wallpaper. It's a stunning room, three times the size of my old one—which was two times the size of the apartment my mother and I shared.

I'm unsure of what to do with this much room.

"What are you talking about?" I ask Jace.

"There's going to only be one bed," he says. "And I'm not sleeping on that couch over there. It looks supremely uncomfortable for sleeping, I'm too tall to even fit on it long ways, and I just refuse."

"Is this your way of asking if you can sleep in the same bed as me?" I inquire, drifting towards the next door, the one that leads to a massive bedroom where, indeed, there is only one bed—albeit a very large bed. It has a silken bedspread that shimmers like pure gold, and there are twenty fluffy pillows on it but none of that disguises the fact that there is only one bed.

"First of all, I'm not asking," Jace mutters. "Secondly, you can sleep on the damn couch if you want. You're short enough to fit."

"I don't want to sleep on the couch," I say.

"Then it looks like you'll be sleeping with me."

I glare over at him and the stubborn set of his jaw. "Are you just trying to be a brat tonight because you didn't get your way with your father?"

"Nope. I just don't wanna sleep on the couch. Thought I'd make that inescapably clear just so there was no further arguments about it."

"The bed is big enough for us both to fit and for there to be a few pillows between us," I say. Jace laughs, snickers more like it, and I glare over at him.

"What?"

"Nothing." He holds his hands up, trying to keep a smirk from his face but failing, and I feel my blood burn at that annoying little sparkle of laughter in his eyes.

"Tell me," I demand.

"Why? You don't tell me anything," he says smartly.

"You're such a child." I march away angrily, pausing by the wardrobe to find all my things hanging, and I grab my nightgown.

"Good come back," Jace says.

"Shut up!" I snap without thinking. I haven't said that since I was five, talking to a little boy that said he thought I was fat. I had proceeded to beat the living daylights out of him.

"Even better!" Jace exclaims smugly.

I slam the bathroom door between us, and I roll my eyes at myself. He's getting a rise out of me, like we were still in school. It's ridiculous. I don't get so overwhelmed by such juvenile prompts.

As I change into my silk nightgown, I cool my burning anger down, solidifying it into ice, because I can't be goaded into Jace's annoying little arguments. There's no time for such, anyway, and any small semblance of power I give to him is too much.

When I walk back into the bedroom, Jace is already in some stripped pajama bottoms, sitting atop the covers on the bed, reading a book.

Because I can't help myself, I say, "Reading? I would have thought it beyond you."

"Oh, God, you're so clever," Jace says breathlessly.

I glare and grab some of the pillows from the bed, especially the ones behind Jace so he falls back against the headboard, and then I begin to place them strategically down the middle of the bed.

Once that's done, I fold my side of the covers back and crawl up into the huge bed, noticing Jace's eyes on me as I do so.

"Don't you have any other pajamas?" he inquires. "Like maybe some hideously unattractive flannel ones?"

I look down at my short nightgown in rehearsed shock. "I'm a hot sleeper, so no. Why? Does this bother you?"

"No, not at all," Jace says, his voice loaded with innuendo. "Just thought my reaction might bother you." He glances down at his lap pointedly.

I scoff. "You're as disgusting and lewd as always."

"You didn't seem to feel that way about me the other day, in the shower." He leans closer to me and drops his voice into a breathless imitation of mine, "'Jace…oh, Jace, _please_…' Quite lewd yourself, if you ask me."

I feel my face tighten. "I never said please. And I might like to point out that you're encroaching upon my side of the bed."

"Kind of ridiculous that we have designated sides of the bed seeing as how we're married…and after what happened the other day, _in the shower_," he repeats, and he's smirking, this little boy's smug smirk, and I feel my rage bubbling back up.

I lash out with what I know will shut him down the fastest, and I do so without a blink. "I find your mood suspiciously good considering we just got back from your friend's funeral."

Jace's smirk is swiped away like it never existed, and only fury remains. "You know what your problem is, Clary? You're pretty and no one's ever had the balls to tell you what kind of person you really are. So I will, and you'll know I'm being totally honest when I say that you're a heartless bitch."

I blink. "And you're just a saint yourself, aren't you?"

Jace just shakes his head, looking a bit baffled. "I really wonder what happened to you. You must have had one seriously fucked up childhood for you to turn out as cold as you did. I feel sorry for you. I really do."

"Well, I don't need anyone's pity," I say. "Especially yours considering your own childhood didn't seem like a bowl full of cherries, either."

"At least I have the capacity for empathy, something you are obviously lacking." With that, Jace gets out of bed, finds a t-shirt, and yanks it over his head. "Goodnight, Mrs. Wayland." He doesn't allow me to respond, just walks out of the room and slams the door with all his might behind him.

I'm left alone, sitting in the huge bed, and I glance over to find the book Jace had been reading. Carefully, I pick it up.

I'm not sure what I expect. Maybe some sort of war book, a book on violence or how to run a dictatorship, but what I find instead is a very old, very brittle beat-up classic: _Of Mice and Men_.

Such a strange thing for Jace to be reading. I'm thrown off at first, but after glancing through the pages, I confirm that it is the right book, not some sort of disguised copy.

Just another mystery I have to decrypt.

* * *

"How do you feel today?" I ask Isabelle as I open her curtains up.

She lays in her bed still, her hair messy and her makeup smeared where she didn't remove it the night previous. She disturbingly resembles a corpse the way in which she is so still, with her bloodless white face.

"Isabelle?" I inquire, moving over to her bed once I've let a little morning light into the room.

She doesn't respond, so I sit beside her, perched preciously on the very edge of the mattress. We sit in silence for a moment, but I feel her hand reach for mine. She interlaces our fingers, hers ice cold and clammy, but she still doesn't speak or look at me. But I do see some tears leak out of the corners of her eyes.

"Can I get you anything?" I inquire softly.

She just mutely shakes her head, and her hand tightens against mine. So I just sit with her for the next hour, until Celine comes in and asks me if I can speak with her privately.

When we exit into the living room, away from Isabelle, Celine asks me if I can watch after Izzy during the day, that she can watch over her at night. I agree, and then Celine makes a comment on how silly Maryse is.

So I ask, "Who's Maryse?"

"That's Isabelle's mother. She is the 7th border's Captain—which means she stays there throughout the year, making sure everything is safe. And she refuses to come home," Celine murmurs, glancing towards Isabelle's closed bedroom door.

"Why?" I inquire.

Celine's lips press together briefly, her eyes big and sad. "She's afraid of emotion, Clarissa. Maryse has never been able to handle having a girl well. She always let Jace or Alec take care of Izzy, rather than being a mother to her. But I can't say much else on that."

I blink at her sudden statement, and before I can ask anything else, Celine cuts in and whispers, "Have you seen Jace?"

I think back to last night, when he left the room in such a huff, and I clear my throat. "Not since the previous evening."

Celine cocks her head and then leans in close to me, invading my personal space a bit, and places her hand on my shoulder. Whisper-soft, she asks, "Did you fight?"

I feel my eyes widen. "Well…we did get into a bit of heated discussion… Did he tell you that?"

Celine shakes her head. "No. I haven't seen him since Sebastian's service. I just thought that you might get into an argument with Valentine forcing that housing arrangement on you. I know Jace gets very ugly when his father starts pushing him."

"I…oh." This is all I can manage to say.

"I just want you to know, Clarissa, that Jace is a good boy. He has a good heart, though he might not let you see it often. His father has ingrained it into his head that to show goodness is a weakness in the end. But I pray that he will not always hold the ideal to heart, that he'll let some of his kindness be seen by you." Celine smiles, a distant and soft, far-away smile. She pats my shoulder and then walks away, leaving me to stay by Isabelle's side and decode everything that she's said.

* * *

Isabelle lays listlessly most of the day. She doesn't speak, so I just sit by her side and read the copy of _Of Mice and Men_ that Jace left behind the night previous.

It's rare old books are around for humans to read, and I'm curious about this one in particular since Jace was reading it. It's a sad story so far, one I cannot see a happy ending for.

"Clary?"

I glance over at Isabelle, who is sitting up slightly and looking at me in the dying evening light pouring into her bedroom windows. "Yes? Do you need something?"

Isabelle nods and manages to sit up all the way in her bed. Her eyes are alight with grim determination. "I need something very important."

I sit Jace's book aside and lean towards her. "Of course, Isabelle. Anything you need, I'll try to get it for you."

She nods again, this time pursing her lips. "Good, good." She attempts to tuck some of her wild hair behind her ear and says, "They won't tell me how Sebastian died. No one will. But I've got to know—I've just got to. It's driving me crazy."

I carefully construct a perfectly flat expression, not letting on that I know anything in the way her husband horribly perished.

"So I want you to do something very serious for me. I want you to go up to the top floor of the hotel—the floor where all our records are. Sebastian's death record will be there, too. And what I want you to do, is break in for me."


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Last update for the evening! Enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

Isabelle tells me of a back stairwell to take to the top floor.

It takes me ten minutes to climb all the steps, but I make it eventually and open the door, peeping out into the empty, clinical hallway.

I wait for a few seconds until I'm sure no one will be coming, and I walk carefully out of the stairwell, down the long hall filled with closed doors. Isabelle told me it was the eighth door on the left, and I finally find the correct one.

I press my ear to the door, and after a whole minute of listening, I hear no one's voice and I pray for the best, trying the doorknob, but as Isabelle said it would likely be, it's locked.

With a sigh, I pull out one of my bobby pins and go to work on the lock. She asked me if I knew how to pick a lock, and when I'd told her I did, she hadn't seemed particularly surprised. I wonder if it is because most Guardians think humans are nothing more than a bunch of conniving thieves. Whatever the case, I'm glad she didn't ask me any questions.

It's been a while since I've put my lock-picking skills to use, and this lock is particularly cantankerous, which Isabelle also mentioned, telling me that Valentine doesn't upgrade the locks to something more modern because why mess with them when they are so old and rusty now that it's nearly impossible to get in with a key.

I begrudgingly think he might be onto something after I've stood there ten minutes, jiggling the lock desperately.

My skin is starting to crawl, and I'm starting to get antsy about being out in the open so long. Anyone could come up from the elevator and expose me, at any moment.

And then, my worst fears are confirmed when I hear the soft _ding_ of the machine rising to the top floor.

Quickly, I abandon my attempts at picking the lock and dash down the halls, frantically searching for an open door to hide in. I try doorknob after doorknob, all to no avail, and that's when I hear the voices coming down the hall.

"You're a grown man, Jonathan. Or at least, legally you are. You need to start acting like." This is Valentine.

Panic shoots through me, and I search even faster for an open door, darting a zigzag down the hall.

"I don't know what you mean," Jace says dully.

"Getting caught drunk off your ass by me on the roof is not a grown man's way of handling a little lover's quarrel."

"She's not my lover. And we weren't quarreling."

"I heard you were."

"What? Do you have someone stationed outside my room now, listening in on us?" There's a brief pause before Jace's incredulous laugh. "You're unbelievable. You got James to do it, didn't you? I bet he'd be glad to. He's such a sick fuck he probably wants to overhear us screwing."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Valentine says.

"Why is it so important to you if I get laid or not, anyway?"

"You know you need to produce an heir."

"Well, that's not going to happen with her. The only way it's going to happen is if I force her."

"Maybe that's not out of the question."

There's a long, horrifying pause, and I feel sick to my stomach.

"Oh, no. It most definitely is," Jace growls hotly, his voice enraged. "I'm not like you."

"You're more like me than you realize, I believe."

Their voices are getting closer. They're about to turn the corner, any moment now, and catch me in the act.

"I pray to God I'm not. I might as well just go ahead slit my wrists now if I am. That'd sure burn you up, wouldn't it? Not to get your precious heir."

My hand falls against a doorknob that gives way, and I praise the Lord as I slip inside the dark, cool, closet room, shutting the door softly behind me just as I see, through the slits in the door, Valentine and Jace appear.

"Don't talk like, Jonathan. I forbid it."

"You don't—" Jace begins and then comes up short. He frowns slightly, glancing around the hall, and my heart freezes.

How does he know I'm here?

"Jonathan?" Valentine snaps. "What is wrong with you? We need to go to the weapons room—not dawdle around here all day."

Jace glares briefly at his father before his eyes roam around some more, before coming to rest on the closet door I cower behind. It's dark in here, and I know he can't see me but I still freeze and hold my breath, close my eyes—anything to pretend I'm not here.

Jace's voice sounds closely when he says, "I just thought I heard something."

My eyes snap open, seeing how close he is to the door now. I know he'll throw it open, expose me, but he doesn't—because he can't even know I'm in here. How could he possibly? I'm just paranoid.

"I guess not," Jace murmurs. He turns his back on the closet, and I hear Valentine scoff.

"You're acting as psychotic as your mother," he says.

"I'd rather be psychotic and nice than psychotic and evil," Jace mutters. And then he's walking away with his father.

But not before he knocks gently on the door, a careful little tune, and I know that he knows. Somehow, he knows.

* * *

I don't think about Jace's knowledge of my presence yet.

I have a job to do.

Once I get back to the right door, I get it unlocked much quicker and slip inside.

The room is dark and filled with filing cabinets, which I find strange considering the wealth of the Guardians. Surely they have other ways of storage than dull filing cabinets? But no, they don't, and it doesn't matter to me in the end.

I quickly find Sebastian's file on his death, but I don't bother looking at it. That's not why I agreed to Isabelle's little mission.

I find the M's in the storage room and pull open the cabinet.

"Millhouse," I breathe repeatedly as I flip through the alphabetized files. They have files on everything—from people's names that start with M to people's street addresses to specific incidences—but not he incidence I want.

"Mil…Mim…" I whisper, flipping between the two but finding no Mill. It's not here. Of course it's not. They wouldn't keep something so important in a filing cabinet. They might not even have it written down anywhere.

I groan in aggravation, slamming the drawer shut, running my hands down my face.

The enormity of what I'm doing hits me.

I could spend years in this personal hell, looking for information on the Guardian's most well-kept secrets.

That fire.

The fire that engulfed the mill and killed hundreds of humans. The fire that killed my aunt.

I close my eyes and see Amatis in the flames, panicking, screaming along with the rest of the hordes of dying people. I see her running to the roof in fear, tears streaming down her face, and I see her standing at the edge, looking down at the horrified onlookers below. I see her take a deep breath and jump, see her body flail through the air weightlessly until it slams against the pavement, her head splitting open like a cracked melon.

Of course, the images aren't mine.

It's only what I imagine it to be.

The question still remains though, _why?_ Why would the Guardians wish to burn up two-hundred and fifty-one humans in such a public way? What did they have to gain from it?

It must be something important.

It has to be.

It might be the thing we need to take them down, to understand them, to see what makes them tick.

I'm here to find out secrets like that. To find out all of their secrets so that we can tear them down from the inside out.

We won't have to use force by ourselves.

No, we can just set the wheels in motion.

And then, we can sit back and watch them burn as they watched the Millhouse people burn in the same way.

* * *

Isabelle's hand shoots out greedily for the file, but I don't relent it to her yet.

"Why did you have me go get it?" I ask slowly as she tugs at the file.

She looks vaguely guilty and shrugs jerkily. "Just didn't feel like getting up."

"You could have very easily gone up there and got what you wanted without having me in danger of getting caught," I accuse.

Isabelle chews on her bottom lip for a moment before blowing out a long gust of air and saying, "Fine! Fine. They won't let me go up there. They haven't for a while now."

"They won't let you go up to the top floor?" I ask with a frown. "Why would they care?"

"I don't know! Your guess is as good as mine. But I knew if I got caught up there, I'd get punished a lot more harshly than you. And I know you're pretty sneaky, so I didn't think you'd get caught anyway—and look! Here you are. Free as a bird. Now, hand over the file," she grumbles, yanking at it.

I still hold onto the file tightly. "Not that free. Jace knows I was up there."

"How's he know?"

"He just does."

Isabelle sighs and rolls her eyes. "It's fine. Jace isn't going to do anything about it. He'd rather have his eyeballs removed than tell Valentine anything. I'll tell him that I sent you up for Sebastian's file."

"Doesn't that kind of defeat the whole purpose of me sneaking to get it?"

"Yeah, but he'll freak out if I don't tell him. He'll get even more crazy with you," Isabelle mutters. "Besides, I didn't just ask Jace himself to get the file for me because I knew he never would—he won't tell me anything. Now, please, please let go!"

I do, and she snatches the file away, spreading it out over her lap, drinking in the words with morbid curiosity.

I come to sit beside her bed in the chair I've been using for the past few hours as Isabelle reads over everything quickly, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. I wait for a few more minutes in silence, and then Isabelle tosses the file away.

The papers spread out over the bedspread in a fan, and I glance down, seeing the words blurring together, different accounts of Sebastian's death.

But only one stands out.

Jace's.

It's as he told it to me, except, at the very end, it says, in Jace's own words, "Sebastian asked me to kill him, but I didn't. He died a few minutes later, in my arms. I watched him die."


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. I'm super stressed out. I've spread myself too thin, with too many clubs, and my classes, too, and I'm just OVERWHELMED! I'm aware that most of you probably don't care (that's totally okay, I probably wouldn't care either), but I just wanted to let y'all know that I'm going to probably go to updating only twice a day instead of three times. It's just too much for me. I'm really sorry, y'all. I know. I'm a bummer. But I can't write quality stuff for y'all if I'm forcing it and stressed out, and I'd rather not give y'all much stuff, but GOOD stuff, rather than tons of lame crap!  
Anyway, enjoy! Will update once more tonight!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Want to tell me what you were doing on the top floor?"

I jump, gasping. I've just walked out of the bathroom, in my evening dress, ready to go down and deal with Jace's confrontation in the dinning room—in front of many other people.

But he's beaten me to the punch, and he's standing before me now, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I know it's weak, but I try to get out of it with only this.

It doesn't work, of course.

"Do you think I'm a complete imbecile? I could smell your perfume!" He rolls his eyes and then glares at me. "Why were you up there? You better be glad I didn't out you to my father. He would've thrown you in the dungeon."

"Don't be ridiculous. I know you don't have a dungeon."

"Clary, why were you up there?"

"I was running an errand for Isabelle."

"So you _do_ think I'm a complete imbecile."

"I never argued that point to begin with."

Jace's hand shoots out, slamming against the wall at my head. I don't flinch. I know he's not going to hit me.

His eyes are burning hot as they pierce mine. "Don't play me, Clary."

"I'm not. I'm telling you the truth—a foreign concept to you, I know."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You lied—about Sebastian's death. You said that he asked you to kill him, and you said you did. But you didn't. You let him die slowly."

Jace's face contorts into pure rage, rage unlike anything I've seen him display before, and I do want to flinch now.

"I never said that. I didn't say _anything_. I'm a lot of things, Clary, but I'm not a liar."

I know I shouldn't, but I push anyway. "Not a liar but someone that admits the truth—which can be just as bad."

His hand slams against the wall again, making me jump. "You don't know anything about me. Stop pretending you do! It gets under my fucking skin more than anything!"

I blink at him, at the loud tone of his voice that has my ears ringing. I'm prepared to be indifferent to his outburst, to not say anything but something cold in response, but I've been so icy for so long that I'm a little tired of it. And the mask slips away for a horrible, brief second—but it's enough, and I find myself blurting, "I'm sorry."

Jace's hand drops from beside my head, and he leans back from me, shock flashing across his face before doubt takes its place. "For what?"

"For last night. For saying the things I did." I swallow and look away from him, because I'm not good at apologies. They make my skin feel tight and foreign, hot and prickly. "You're right. I don't know anything about you. I…I had no right to say those things."

Jace is silent for the longest moment, and I have to glance back up to him, meeting his suspicious eyes. "Trying a new tactic?" he asks finally.

Anger bubbles up within me. "Then again, maybe I do know a little about you. I know that that's a typical response from you. I don't guess you can go five seconds without being a complete bastard, even when one's trying to apologize to you." I start to walk away from him, a little humiliated but mostly disappointed at myself.

Where did that apology even come from?

Jace's hand suddenly grips my upper arm, halting my progress, and he yanks me back towards him. I practically fall into his chest, my heels snagging in the thick rug beneath us.

I shove away from him quickly, but he doesn't relinquish his hold on me. He keeps me close to him, so close that I can smell masculine scent and the cleanliness of his clothes.

"If you're being sincere, that's one thing," he says quietly, looking down at me with suddenly softening eyes. He's still suspicious, but it's dulled now, less harsh. "But if you're playing me…"

"Sometimes people really mean what they say, Jace. Not everyone around you is a liar," I whisper simply.

And I see something in his expression shift.

Something like relief.

* * *

"Come sit with us, darling!"

Jace and I glance over to the hooted call from the older woman that's waving us down as we drift into the dinning room.

"Shit," Jace mutters into my temple.

"What?" I inquire carefully as stare at the table full of Guardians—now all looking over at us expectantly.

"I hate every one of them," is Jace's response. "I don't relish the idea of spending the next two hours pretending I can halfway tolerate them."

"Darling!" The woman's persistent, waving her arm again as if there was any doubt the whole dinning room didn't hear her the first time. "Come grace us with your presence!"

Jace sighs, his hand falling to the small of my back and guiding me over, where we sit side-by-side at the table filled with ten Guardians. Jace is seated by the woman that flagged us down, a fact that seems to please us greatly.

Her hand immediately is on Jace's forearm, her blood red nails garishly long and shocking against his golden skin. "It's been so long since I've seen you, darling."

"It's only been a day, Aline," Jace replies, but then he smiles to soften the blow.

"I haven't _spoken_ with you in _months_, though!" she adds.

"A travesty," Jace says, and though I can detect the sarcasm in his voice, Aline and the rest of the table only smile and nod.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to bring that pretty little wife of yours around anytime soon," a tall man murmurs, his voice deep and his eyes sharp as he stares across the table at me.

Jace's arm drapes casually over my shoulders. "Yes, well, I've been busy as of late."

"I'd be busy, too, with a wife like that," the man says, making my stomach churn.

Aline, sensing Jace's disapproval and wanting to be the hero, speaks up. "Malachi, I'm sure Clarissa does not want to hear such vulgar talk."

"She's probably heard it before. She's a Date, after all. Everyone knows they're just glorified whores," he says dully, looking down at his food and grabbing for his fork—as if he's said nothing wrong.

Jace's tone is biting when he says, "She's a lady, and if that doesn't constitute your respect, which I don't imagine it would with you, you should also remember that she is _my_ _wife_."

The whole tables stills at his cold, harsh tone, and Malachi barely peeps up at Jace, his expression repentant but still a bit angered. "My apologies. I didn't mean any harm."

"That's no excuse for your ignorance," Jace says.

Malachi ducks his head but offers no further words, chastised thoroughly.

Aline clears her throat at the sudden, uncomfortable silence. "Well, Malachi, how is your brother? I haven't heard from him in ages…"

Malachi manages a curt response, but I don't listen. I don't care.

I look over at Jace, and he looks back, sensing my searching stare. We look at each other discreetly for a long time before I offer just the smallest of smiles, a silent _thank you_, and I feel Jace's hand fall on my knee under the table and squeeze once, a replied _you're welcome_.

* * *

Jace's hand doesn't move throughout the evening.

It becomes distracting because as he is forced to hold up dull conversation with the pushy, obviously in-lust, Aline, his fingers begin stroking patterns into my skin, the skin exposed by the high slit in my dress.

His calluses rub roughly against the silken smoothness of my skin, and that contrast is somehow pleasurable, as is the way his touch is so light that it is almost a whisper against me, teasing without meaning to be.

Or maybe he does mean to tease me.

I catch him smirking out of the corner of my eye when his hand has drifted indecently high on my thigh and I have to push it back down.

But I don't remove it totally.

The conversation whirrs on around us, dizzyingly mundane. And here I'd thought Guardians, with how great that felt they were compared to humans, would have things slightly more interesting to talk about than the weather or whom was having an affair with whom.

I listen to the gossip on particular people with slightly more interest, hoping to gleam some sort of information, but I never do. They only talk of unfamiliar people's names.

"How is Isabelle doing?" Aline inquires suddenly, her annoying voice suddenly tuning into my fraying thoughts.

Jace's hand is starting to inch higher again on my leg, his fingers brushing softly over the warm skin of my inner thigh.

"I've heard you're helping watch after her, Clarissa," Aline adds pointedly, looking over at me.

"She's…doing as well as to be expected," I manage to say without one quiver in my voice. I push Jace's hand back down, but he just begins the torturously slow trail back up.

"I actually ran into Celine this morning. She's looking after Isabelle, as well." Aline's lips purse, almost in disdain, but she doesn't comment further.

Malachi, however, who has gotten progressively drunk throughout the evening, does comment. "Like the blind leading the blind, in my opinion."

"Yes, well, no one asked it," Jace replies coolly.

Aline lets out a startled laugh. "Oh, boys are just the most odd creatures—always bickering. Wouldn't you agree, Clarissa?"

"Ah, yes," I say but there's a little hitch in my voice because, due to Jace's irritation at Malachi, his ministrations against my leg have gotten a little quicker, and more heated. I reach for my glass to cover the strange note in my voice.

"I would guess you have lots of experience with boys," Aline murmurs, cocking her head in cold curiosity. "Is it very glamorous, the life of a Date?"

The glass I've grabbed and drank from holds wine. It's bitter and sweet at the same time, almost making me wrinkle my nose, but I can't do that. I am to act much older than sixteen, to act as if I've drunk wine plenty of times before. So I take another small sip, trying to acclimate myself to the taste while also trying to cool my temper before lashing out at Aline.

"Not hardly as glamorous as one would think," I say with a slight, fake smile.

"Clary was never officially a Date," Jace says coldly to Aline. "She was never requested for her company—she wasn't of age yet."

"Oh. I see." Aline purses her lips again, obviously off-put. Perhaps she is debating how much older she is, how she is to compete with such young blood. I think I see the wheels turning in her mind.

Jace glances over at me and offers a secret smile, one I return a little begrudgingly, before it is wiped away when Jace's hand slips up so high that's entirely inappropriate for the public, and I jump slightly in my seat, my knees hitting the underside of the table, rattling the dishes above it.

Everyone's eyes are suddenly on me.

"I apologize," I say breathlessly, feeling his hand resting right over my panties, just lightly. "I had a chill."

Jace ducks his head to hide his smile as the rest of the table seems to begrudgingly buy my story. They all look back down at their food, forgetting the incident as their boring conversations start up again.

"Jace, stop it," I hiss in his ear, removing his hand completely from my leg and tossing it back into his own lap.

He turns his head so our noses brush, and his eyes are sparkling and warm. "Why?" he breaths against my lips.

"It's hardly appropriate for this public setting," I murmur, turning away from him before I loose my breath in his stare and embarrass myself further. I make a show of situating my napkin on my lap—over my exposed leg.

"I can take you somewhere more private, if you'd like," he says into my ear, his voice low and hot, seductive in every way.

"Your mood swings are confounding," I reply, trying to disguise the little hitch in my voice as I once again reach for my wine.

"I like to keep you on your toes," is his response.

Unfortunately, he does this all too well.


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note: Last update for the night! Enjoy, y'all! Hope y'all have a great day tomorrow, and I'll "see" y'all sooner rather than later tomorrow because I don't have a lot of classes tomorrow. So...I'll be posting midday instead of evening! (: TAH-TAH!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

My feet don't seem to want to work properly, so I have to lean on Jace as we walk back to our room—or, as I stumble back to the room.

"This floor is unstable," I say.

"It's not the floor that's unstable."

"What?" I demand, glaring up at Jace as he practically drags me down the hall.

"Nothing," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

My ankle gets caught on something, and then I'm falling face-first towards the Oriental-rug-lined floor—if not for Jace's strong hands catching me at the waist easily. I laugh at the fluttery feeling of adrenaline coursing through me at my almost-fall.

"Woops!" I yell.

"Jesus, Clary. You are so drunk." He holds me for a moment, with my face close to the floor, and my legs tangled out, uselessly, behind me—not offering to move. "Are you gonna stand up any time soon? Or am I going to have to carry you?"

"Carry me, _darling_," I cry dramatically, in an imitation of Aline's voice. Then I laugh at my own cleverness.

I hear Jace sigh, and then I'm being lifted in the air, swung up easily into his arms, and cradled against his warm chest. I inhale the scent of his shirt deeply because he smells good—really good. I've never admitted that to myself before.

"Are you sniffing me?" Jace demands as he walks us to the door and manages to open it without dropping me.

"Yes," I mumble against the fabric. "You smell good."

Jace sighs again and suddenly deposits me on the couch, looking down at me with narrowed eyes. "Have you ever had wine before?"

I stare at him for a moment before grinning and saying, a little bashfully, "Noooo."

"That explains a lot, then." Jace runs a hand through his hair and starts towards the bedroom.

"Wait! Where…where are you going?" I demand, hopping up and running after him. I hug him from behind, tightly as I can. "Don't leave."

"I'm going to take a shower, Clary. I'm not leaving."

"But you _are_ leaving. You're leaving the room."

"Well, I'd ask you to join me—"

"Okay," I say quickly.

"—but you're so drunk, I fully expect you to fall and crack open your head on the shower floor. Your shattered skull would be a real mood killer, you know." He tries to pry my hands from around his waist.

"Then just stay in here. With me."

"Clary—" he begins tiredly, turning around in my grasp so that I can see him, and he's opening his mouth to protest, a strange light in his eyes, when I go up to my tiptoes and kiss him.

He's unresponsive, at first. But I kiss him again, and again, short little pecks, lips pressing into lips softly, briefly. These teasing touches do it, and then he's kissing me back, the way I like and the way I know he must like, too—hard, unrelenting.

His hands are in my hair, holding my face to his, and I'm grabbing at his hips, pulling him over to the couch. And then, without warning, I shove him—hard—and he falls back into the seat with a surprising amount of grace considering he had fallen.

He looks up at me, his eyebrows arched in amusement and surprise, but I can see the dark desire simmering in his eyes. The want, the same want I feel brewing in my stomach, clenching my insides.

I crawl over him, my legs straddling him, and then I'm kissing him again. But he's hesitant now, or at least more in control of himself, and I huff, aggravated, against his lips before brushing my mouth over his cheek, down his jaw.

"Jace," I say.

"What?"

"Will you touch me again?" I grope for his hands and find them, bringing them up, sliding them under the silk of my dress, onto the bare skin of my legs.

"Like you did in the dinning room. Please?"

"Clary, you're drunk," Jace is saying.

I'm shaking my head. "Not that drunk."

"Yeah, you are. Or else, you wouldn't be doing this."

I attach my lips to his again, desperate for something—anything. This sudden urge has come, some ancient instinct, this need for him. I can't understand it or the way it makes me feel. It's powerful, overwhelming.

Our lips meld perfectly, hotly, Jace no longer fighting it because it feels so good. I like this feeling so much that I wonder why I don't do it all the time. I don't think Jace would mind. I should do this more, kissing. It's fun.

I run my hands down Jace's chest, and I sink into his lap a little because I'm slightly off balance and my head is heavy and fuzzy and exploding with colors. And that's when I feel him, pressing into me in just the right place, and my soft gasp fills the room.

"Oh!" I roll my hips down on his erection, making him breath roughly into my neck, his hands tightening on my waist. Everything in my stomach clenches, trembles, heat rushing through me, pooling between my thighs. "Oh. It's so hard," I whisper, a little in awe as I roll my hips again, experimentally, searchingly.

Jace lifts his head slightly, his dilated, lusty eyes finding mine. A half smirk tilts his lips, and that look makes me push myself down harder on his lap, which makes his face tighten in such a beautiful, tense way.

"That means you want me, doesn't it?" I ask quietly, running my hands back up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. I keep rotating my hips down against him, loving the friction that it creates between us.

"Yes," Jace says hotly into my throat, his teeth scraping down my skin, making me shiver, making me quake. I feel his hands traveling up, going to the top of my gown and yanking down the sleeves, hard, exposing more of my skin for his lips to sear across.

"You want to…want to take me?" I inquire, almost shyly, but mostly curious as I slowly undulate my hips over his, liking this slow burn between us, the way his lips skate across my skin leisurely, but not lacking in desire.

"Fuck yes," Jace growls softly against my pounding pulse.

His profanity makes the tightness in my stomach worse.

"Then…then—oh!" I moan sharply as he lifts his hips up, thrusting himself against me suddenly. "Then why don't you—take me?"

Jace's movement stop, and I groan in dissatisfaction as he pulls away from me, so our eyes can meet. His cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess from where I've been pulling through it, and his eyes are so wild yet sleepy that it makes the heat between my legs worsen to almost painful levels.

"Because you're not mine to take," Jace murmurs, his voice suddenly very serious.

I don't like that, so I lean in and whisper my lips over his. Ask him, "What if I told you I wanted you to…if I wanted you to take me right here on this couch—right now?"

Jace's fingers clench my hips, keeping me from circling my hips anymore, something I've been doing subconsciously as I spoke. He leans his face into my neck, his teeth nipping gently at my earlobe, and his breath is hot as he says, slowly, "I'd say… you were drunk and we aren't going to do anything until you're sober."

I jerk away from him, glaring. "But I'm not drunk. And it feels so good." I make sure to accentuate my statement with another press of my body down on his.

"Yeah, but the good feelings now aren't gonna outweigh the bad feelings of your regret in the morning." Jace grabs me tightly by the hips and lifts me up, off of him, giving me a stern look. "You might as well get over it, Clary. We aren't doing anything else."

I sigh and roll down suddenly, pulling him with me, twisting us until he's laying halfway on top of me and I'm getting to rest my incredibly heavy, aching head on the armrest of the couch.

He's got that tiny little smirk lifting one corner of his mouth as he gazes down at me with those pretty, hot and sinful eyes, and I reach up, running my hands over his neck, down his chest a bit.

"You're good, Jace," I say quietly, feeling suddenly sleepy. "You're a good boy. I know it. I can see a little bit of it, sometimes. Even though you try to hide it—I see…I see through you though."

"Do you?" he inquires with a little grin, his hand coming up to twirl a lock of my scarlet hair around his finger.

"Mm-hm." I nod slowly.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"

I laugh and nod again, more heartily this time, before yawning. I smooth my hands up to his face, tracing his lips and the sharp line of his jaw with my searching fingers. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good." He's watching his own hand brush gently through my hair, almost as if he's mesmerized by it.

"Jace?"

"Hm?"

"You seem different tonight…softer. Why?"

"I guess because you are. I think that a few seconds ago was the first time I've ever heard you laugh." Jace's eyes find mine, the desire now cooling and gentleness taking its place, not taking away from the warmth of his golden orbs one bit, though. "You have a pretty laugh. You should do it more often, you know."

"Well, I've never heard you laugh either," I accuse, shaking a finger at him. I think my words are slurring. Maybe they have been all night. That could be why Jace wasn't entirely taken by my attempts at seduction. Slurring was not sexy.

"I don't have much to laugh about."

"Me, either," I agree softly. "I think…I think our parents made us grow up too fast."

"Yeah," Jace mumbles, looking at my hair again as his fingers play with it.

"Did you have a good childhood, Jace? Tell me please. Be honest."

Jace's jaw tightens a bit, but his eyes never stray from my hair. "It was decent, I guess."

"Just decent?"

"Yeah. Just decent. Father didn't let me have much of a childhood, I guess. I was being preened to take over the Guardianship since the time I could talk."

"That's a shame," I murmur. My eyes are getting heavy, my vision blurred. There feels like there's grit under my eyelids, irritating. "A childhood should be great. That's the only true time of innocence. It should be…it should be enjoyed."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For your childhood. Or lack thereof."

My eyes are already shut. I realize this when I notice I'm only seeing black, only _feeling_ Jace's hand reach up to smooth across my cheek.

"It's not your fault, Clary."

"I'm sorry I've been so awful to you."

"That _is_ your fault."

"Ha-ha." I shift, trying to get comfortable in the darkness behind my eyelids. "I'm sleepy."

"Then go to sleep."

"But we'll stop talking. I haven't talked to anyone in a long time."

"We can talk again in the morning."

But we both know that's a lie.

In the morning, things will be back to the way they were, and suddenly, I don't want to fall asleep.

But I do anyway.

It's beyond me, just like everything else.

* * *

**How do y'all feel about this? Let me know. I fully expect to see many reviews from people when I get back on here in the morning. For anyone kind of on the rocks about reviewing that haven't given up their lovely opinions to me yet...NOW IS THE TIME! I reply to all reviews. Unless I miss one. Which would be by accident. SERIOUSLY! Tell me what's going on in all y'all's heads! Please and thank you! (:**

**Also, y'all want to hear a super embarrassing story in which to y'all I display my ignorance regarding technology? Well, when I respond to reviews on here, I respond to everyone's comments and then, I go back up to the Publish tab, then to my story, then to the reviews and respond to the next one. I didn't realize when you sent a review, once it goes out, there's a button that lets you just go straight back to the reviews. EMBARRASSING. **

**Just so you know, this ^^^^ was a shameless tactic in which I try to get my readers to relate to me and therefore review to me because they know I'm not mean. Hey, I KNOW a lot more people are reading this than the AMAZING TOTALLY WONDERFUL people who ARE reviewing. So please help me out! I LOVE feedback! Thanks (:**


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long! And, um, let me just say. WOW. I asked for reviews and y'all got me all the way up into the 200's! Have yet to read them, but I'm super excited/pleased/freaking out by how amazing y'all are. Will be responding to them ASAP! Thank y'all so much! Keep those reviews coming, please! (:**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

When I wake, my head is pounding.

Literally splitting open—or feeling like it.

I groan and pry my eyes open, wincing as the dim light from the bedside lamp shines onto me. Carefully, I sit up in the bed, looking down at my wrinkled evening gown that has gotten twisted up around my legs wildly in my sleep.

I press my hand to my forehead, trying to see if I have a fever. Why else would I be feeling so horrible? And why I can't remember half the things that happened last night?

I force myself to think back, to fuzzy, blurry memories that flash behind my eyelids rapidly, teasingly out of reach for further inspection.

Frustrated, I give up with a groan.

The bathroom door swings open suddenly, and Jace strolls out, looking unfairly energized as he rubs a towel roughly through his shower-damp hair. He's only wearing some dark pants, which ride low on his narrow hips. Dangerously low.

I look away quickly.

"Good morning," Jace announces, his voice drawling and amused. I hear him walk over the windows and jerk open the curtains, flooding the room with early morning sun light that stings my eyes and makes me hiss in pain. "Hung-over?"

"No," I insist immediately but I'm feeling silly now. Of course I don't have a fever. I just have a hangover. I feel disgusted at myself. How did I get so drunk? I only had two glasses of wine…

"Sure." Jace is smirking as he ambles over to his closet and pushes open the doors.

"What…what happened last night?" I ask begrudgingly. Because I have to know. I have to judge his reaction. I might have let something important slip to him in my state of intoxication. The mere idea has my blood turning cold and my stomach revolting.

"Well, you got really drunk. I carried you back to the room. And then we had sex. _Four_ times."

"Jace!"

"Oh, I'm just kidding with you, Clary." He finds a white t-shirt and yanks it over his head, turning to roll his eyes at me. "Don't be so damn uptight. I'm just trying to bond with you…you know, build up camaraderie between us. I predict we'll be best friends in no time."

I glare, getting to my feet and starting the march towards the bathroom. "Well, I don't want your camaraderie or to be best friends. I just wanted a simple answer to my simple question."

Jace is suddenly by me, his hand shooting out to grab my arm and pull me to a halt. We're in front of the floor length mirror, so I use our reflections to glare at him again.

"Look, nothing that profound happened last night. You just weren't so…so plagued by that stick up your ass," he says, meeting my scowl in the mirror, his eyes earnest.

I roll my eyes. "What did we _talk_ about, though?"

"You mentioned childhoods. Asked me about mine. You said something about how kids should have a good childhood because that's the only time you're ever really innocent." Jace's hands fall onto my shoulders, raking my hair back to the nape of my neck gently. His eyes meet mine again. "And you even laughed. Which proves that there _is_ a heart underneath that ice queen, badass thing you have going for you."

I'm not sure why, but I feel my lips begrudgingly tilt up—just a little. A fraction.

But still, Jace notices. His hands come down to rest on my hips, and he pulls me carefully back against him. He inclines his head, so that his warm lips are by my ear, and though I expect him to whisper something inappropriate, he simply kisses me.

A rush of heat runs through me, and I stiffen, Jace's gentle touch both surprising me and making goosebumps appear on my arms.

His hands come back up, running over my shoulders, pulling down the sleeves of my dress, his skin warm and rough against mine, his touch light.

His mouth skims down over my neck, his breath hot against me, and his hands are curving up and over my shoulders, his fingers dragging lightly against my collarbones.

I'm leaning back into him despite myself because when he touches me like this, so slow and gently, I can't help my body's instinctual reaction. It's just unavoidable.

Jace's hands move down further, pausing lightly at my chest, squeezing my breasts briefly, making me squeak in both shock and pleasure, and then they are slipping lower, over my slightly trembling stomach, down to the curve of my hips.

He's pressing hot, wet kisses over my jaw and neck possessively, quickly, as if he can't get enough of the taste of my skin, and that makes me feel so uncomfortably aroused that I can't stand still and start pressing back into his hard, strong body. I feel so soft and small compared to him and the firm, masculine lines of his body, but this does not discourage me. For once, I don't mind being physically weaker, because this isn't a matter of strength, anyway. It's just the way it is.

Jace's hands are dipping down to the slit of my skirt, parting it, his fingers slipping underneath the silken fabric to touch my skin. He caresses me for an indefinable amount of time, touching me so softly yet teasingly, running up over my hips, playing with the edges of my panties, smoothing down my heated thighs.

I'm feeling that hot, tingling feeling right between my legs, right where I know I want him to touch me, and he's making it so much worse, torturing me until I'm almost insane enough to ask him to touch me there. But I don't have to.

His hand finally comes between my legs, cupping me before I feel his fingers easing under my panties.

I'm trembling now and tense, tense with desire and fear because I'm not sure what this will be like. My heart is pounding so loud that I can't hear anything else, and my breathing rasps sharply in my chest, a match to Jace's own uneven breaths.

And then, like a gunshot, a knock sounds in the living room.

Jace and I both sigh in unison, relaxing immediately because we know this is over.

He withdraws his hand and kisses my cheek softly before saying, "I'll get it."

And then he's off, into the living room, and I quickly run into the bathroom, ready to get dressed for the day and attempt to forget everything Jace was just doing to me.

* * *

"Have you and Jace had sex yet?"

"No, Isabelle," I sigh, never looking up from _Of Mice and Men_ as I answer her. I've read this book three times now. The first time, I felt a little teary when I finished it. It was the first time I'd felt the urge to cry in six years, and now, I am rereading it again. Hopeful that, this time, I will be able to cry, for some sick, strange reason.

"Why not?" Isabelle sits in her bed still, looking slightly less sick with grief but still drowning in her sorrows nonetheless.

"Many reasons. One being, I've known Jace only a short amount of time, and I'm not entirely sure I can even stand him."

Isabelle laughs, and it's a sound I haven't heard in the week Sebastian's been gone. "That's what I like about you, Clary. You don't eat anyone's shit. You're perfect Jace, actually. He needs a girl that won't put up his emotional, moody baggage."

"Why _is_ he so moody? Has he always been like that?" I inquire, sitting the book to the side and looking over at Izzy and her mused hair.

"No. He wasn't like that when he was little—at least, I don't remember him being like that. He was really sensitive as a kid, if you can believe it. He had a big heart." Izzy sniffs a little and draws her knees up to her chest, her eyes in the past. "So did Alec. That's why him and Jace were best friends. They bonded especially over trying to take care of me and raise me, practically. They felt bad…bad because Mom was never around. So they tried to be my mom." She rolls her eyes and does that very manly snorting thing she is so fond of. "You see how that turned out."

I smile just slightly, crossing my legs slowly. "So Jace only recently became prone to violent mood swings?"

"Well, I guess it started when we were becoming teenagers—like thirteen. That's a shitty time, anyway, and then Uncle Valentine was always so hard on Jace. He still is. But back then… he'd just do some real lame ass things. Like this one time, he grabbed Jace up by his arm and smacked him right across the face in front of God and everyone else in the dinning room. Only because Jace kept blowing bubbles into his water glass with his straw. He didn't stop when Uncle Valentine said so, so Uncle Valentine proceeded to hit him. That wasn't so bad though. Jace was humiliated, sure, but he wasn't hurt as bad as he usually was."

"As he usually was?"

"Uncle Valentine used to break Jace's arms and legs. Especially when Jace went through a rebellious phase when he was around eleven and twelve. Uncle Valentine would throw him around the room so bad that he'd break his bones."

My stomach sours, my face collapsing in disgust despite my best efforts to remain untouched by it. I shouldn't feel sorry for Jace. He was, ultimately, the enemy, although not the main enemy. He wasn't the reason I was here, at least not directly, but having any kind of empathy for him would ruin everything.

So I shoved it out of my mind and say, with well-rehearsed poise, "That is simply awful."

Isabelle nods. "Yeah, it was pretty bad. Jace has a lot scars from his dad, too. Aunt Celine gets bad sometimes—not coming out of her bed for weeks. She'll start…seizing or something. And when she does that, things get a lot worse between Jace and Uncle Valentine—which is when most of those scars and broken bones came."

"Celine…seizes?"

"Oh, yeah. She's bat-shit crazy, but you haven't even seen her at her worst." Isabelle shudders. "Anyway, I guess it's pretty fitting she watches after me at night. The crazy watching the weirdo." Isabelle fixes her dark eyes on mine and goes on before I can say anything. "You don't have to deny it. I know how they talk about me. And Aunt Celine. The Guardians like to gossip. They really like to ostracize people—that's their favorite thing to do, I think."

"Not lie?" I ask with a small smile.

Isabelle snickers, relief flashing in her eyes. I think it might be because I don't lie to her and tell her people don't say such cruel things about her. I know how tiring it gets to hear what others think of you and then to have someone try to tell you differently, out of pity to save your feelings. My mother was bad at doing such.

"Yeah," Isabelle agrees softly, nodding a few times.

Silence descends on us for a moment, distant and thick as we are both caught up in our own thoughts.

I think back to the last day I was in school, when I was fifteen, and when a boy said that everyone knew I was a "no good slut" because I was already being categorized as a Date. When I mentioned it to my mother, she said that not everyone thought that, that it was just a select few. But I knew better. I saw the looks I got when my mother and I walked down the street, all ranging from unflattering lust to disgust.

Mother had pulled me out of school the very next day.

It hadn't been the first time I'd been humiliated because of what my mother did, what I was being raised to do myself. All the humans especially hated the idea of it, because Dates work almost exclusively for the Guardianship. The humans see us as traitors.

And Mother taking me out of school, only confirmed my suspicions and proved her to be a liar to me.

"Clary?" Isabelle asks suddenly, looking over at me.

"Yes?"

"Let's do those dance lessons again—with that human guy that's so weird and funny."

I cock my head, arching my brows daintily. "Are you sure you feel up to it?"

"I'm sure." Izzy nods.

"Positive?"

At this, she smiles, making me give just the smallest hint of a smile in return as she says, "Yeah."

"Okay. I'll make the call for Simon now."

* * *

**Ok. So what do y'all think about Jace's childhood? Does that make you feel for him a little more? Also, I'm thinking within the next few chapters, there will be a party! Like a big, let's dress up, kind of party. No particular reason. Just think I want to write an awesome party scene. Where maybe Jace and Clary get all hot and heavy in the shadows! KIDDING. Maybe. Y'all will have to wait and see! (:**


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: Hey! I'm posting one more chapter after this even though I said I'd probably be only updating twice a day. This is the only time I'll update three times a day for a while, though. And the only reason I'm doing it today is because I can't leave it on Chapter 27. It has to be 28 because that's an even number. I can leave it on even numbers or middle numbers, like, 25. Yes, I know. I'm weird. Anyway, enjoy the party scene...or the beginning of it! (:**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Hey, good, you're here. Go put on something pretty. Or prettier than usual. Fancy, I guess I should say," Jace murmurs as soon as I've walked into our room after tending to Isabelle and showing her and Simon how to dance for the last two hours.

"Why?" I ask as he walks over to me, his arms loaded with fabrics.

"Do these match? Can you tell?" He holds up two items, on a tuxedo jacket and the other pants.

It only takes me a second before saying, "No. The pants are navy blue. The jacket is black."

"Shit." Jace frowns and dumps the pile of clothes onto the couch. He begins searching through them, trying to find black slacks to match the jacket. "I got them all mixed up in the closet. I'm not sure which one goes with which."

I arch my brows carefully. "Why are you in need of a matching suit?"

"There's a ball tonight."

"Tonight?" I demand sharply, looking down at my casual dress in dismay. "Why wasn't I informed of this sooner?"

"Because I just informed now," Jace shoots back, making a nasty face at me.

"What's the ball for?"

"How the hell should I know? You'll soon find out that the ladies of the Guardianship, when bored and not out on border patrols, will find any reason for a party. We once had a celebration for a cat's birthday."

"You're lying," I accuse.

"I wish I was. His name was Frou-Frou and we had a grand ole time and party favors in the shapes of mice."

I feel my lips tilt up a bit at the idea, and Jace, unfortunately, catches me. "Smiling? Twice in one day? Has hell froze over?"

"Why must you always be such an ass?" I inquire before marching into the bedroom and finding the proper dress. Then I go into the bathroom and change. It takes me thirty minutes because I have to redo my makeup, to evening makeup. And then I have to make sure the crinoline under my emerald green skirt is situated properly, so my skirt bells around me equally, all over.

Then I walk back out into the bedroom, where Jace is standing in front of the mirror, trying to tie a black bowtie and failing miserably. At least he's found matching pants and a jacket.

"Oh, fuck it. I'll just go without," Jace announces, yanking the tie from around his neck.

I smirk and walk over to him, carefully removing the bowtie from his fingers and turning him to face me fully. I pull up the collar of his shirt and then loop the tie around his neck before beginning the tie the way my mother taught me.

"Pay attention," I say softly talking through the steps slowly, until the finished product is one perfect bowtie. I smooth my hands over the shoulders of his jacket, a proud smirk dancing on my lips as I glance up at him. "Didn't you ever get taught how to tie these things?"

Jace is staring at me with a strange light in his eyes, one I can't quite decipher, before he clears his throat and eyes the neat bowtie. "No. Well, my mother endeavored to teach me once…which probably explains my lack luster skills in this area."

"Ah." I smile again, just a little, before I feel Jace's finger come up under my chin, tilting my head up towards his so our eyes meet briefly.

He glances down once at my exposed shoulders and tight, demurely low neckline of my ball gown, before saying, "You look lovely."

"You look decently handsome yourself."

Jace arches an eyebrow. "Just decently? I thought I looked rather dashing myself. Extraordinarily handsome, even. Otherworldly, really, if we're being honest."

"Hm, well, I'm sure you would think that." I give a sweet, over-the-top smile. "You poor darling."

Jace's eyes narrow, but it's a playful look he's giving me. "Are you…_joking_ with me, Mrs. Wayland?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Mr. Wayland. I might take offence." I drift away from him, finding myself some earrings and putting them in as I glance over at him, another small smile dancing on my lips.

"Well, we certainly wouldn't want that. I've seen firsthand how heinous you can be when offended." Jace opens the bedroom door and motions for me to go ahead.

I scoff as I pass him but offer no come back. There doesn't seem to be as strong a need now to reply bitingly.

* * *

The ballroom erupts into crazy applause as soon as Jace and I rush in—late, which is all my fault, to hear Jace tell it, because I took so "damn long getting dressed."

All of our hostility towards each other and our lateness is forgotten, though, in face of the crowds staring at us, clapping as hard as they can.

At first, I look behind us, because surely this is for someone else, but there is no one there. It's just us, standing on the top of the huge staircase that swoops down into the glossy floored ballroom.

"Jace?" I ask in a whisper, smiling gently at the masses.

"I don't know," is his response.

Valentine suddenly appears, looking sharp in his own tuxedo, and he climbs the steps towards us. He claps his hand on Jace's shoulder, a smile on his face that almost hides his inner atrociousness. How Jace can even tolerate his touch after Valentine broke his bones is beyond me.

"You're here," Valentine says grandly. Then he leans in and adds, darkly, "_Finally_."

"We didn't exactly have a lot of notice. What the hell is this?" Jace demands, glaring. He doesn't put up the front his father does—or that I do, for that matter. His glare is for the whole ballroom to see.

"It's your birthday party."

"My birthday is next month or have you forgotten?"

"I didn't forget," Valentine snaps, but his face remains frozen in that disturbingly nice smile. "Your mother and I just thought it best to have a celebration now—in order to lift Isabelle's spirits."

"Yes, I'm sure a birthday party for me will snap her out of that dreadful depression her husband's death has caused in no time flat. It's not as if she felt any sort of fondness for him or anything."

"Spare me the sarcasm, Jonathan. This took a lot of planning. I'm surprised no one has let it slip to you thus far."

"Well, we know how Guardians like their secrets, don't we, Father?" Jace asks coolly, giving Valentine a look that speaks volumes and makes me think I'm missing something very important.

Though Valentine's face tightens marginally, he simply says, "Now is hardly the time, Jonathan." I think I notice Valentine's eyes flicker towards me. "Come down and enjoy the festivities with your lovely wife. Clary, dear, you look wonderful."

I look over at him directly for the first time, giving a polite smile, pretending to have been enamored by the crowd and the beautiful gold-and-ivory ballroom before us. "Thank you."

"Of course. Let's walk down, shall we?" Valentine inquires so we do.

The masses descend around us immediately, or more appropriately, descend around Jace. Happy birthday wishes start flying, as well as the occasional compliment on "your beautiful wife," but never anything directly to me. It's a trend I notice immediately—the women who are Guardians are on equal footing with the males, but the woman who are human and wives of Guardians, they are the ones that are hanging off their husbands' arms like jewelry.

I wonder how different it would be if Guardians had to breed only with one another to produce full-blooded Guardians. Since human women can carry and give birth to a full-blooded Guardian baby if the man is a Guardian, there's no need for them to worry about marrying within their own race if they don't wish. The woman Guardians do have to marry other Guardians, however, seeing as they would give birth to a half-human baby if they were to have a human male's child. So perhaps, Guardian women are not totally on equal footing, either.

My mind swirls with my musing as I pick out the fellow Dates around me. They are covered in wealth, draped in luxury, with contented expressions. I suppose for any other Date, one that has actually had to be with men sexually for a living, find this life suitable—they get money and the status that comes with being a wife.

But to me, it's a disgusting tradition.

One I can't wait to eradicate.

"Are you as bored to tears as I am?" Jace whispers into my ear when there's finally a break in the people vying for his attention.

I shush him, my eyes still roaming over the room curiously, taking in all the little relationships I see. Longing eyes. Covert glances. Secret smiles. Carefully hidden touches.

"Jonathan!"

We both glance over at the tall man walking towards us. His barely lined, tanned and handsome face is unknown to me, but he's smiling at both of us with warmth and dimples that suggest we are old friends.

"Uncle Samuel," Jace says, and he's actually smiling back. He lets go of me and gives the man a hug.

I feel my eyebrows arch in surprise.

"How are you, son?" Samuel demands, running a hand through his shaggy sandy hair. "I haven't seen you in a year! Sorry I couldn't make the wedding."

"I understood why you couldn't. Watching the borders are more important," Jace replies. He glances back at me and then grins again, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me closer to Samuel. "Clary, I'd like you to meet my Uncle Sam—my father's less evil brother."

"Just less evil?" Samuel chuckles. "I'd like to think I'm his better half by far." Then he smiles at me, all warmth and kindness that surprises me slightly. It's out of place. Strange.

Suspicious.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Clary." Samuel grabs my hand kisses it. "I've been hearing how pretty you are, and I see now why."

I smile in perfect form, but on the inside, I'm already wondering… Wondering what this man is up to. He's Valentine's brother, which means, if something were to happen to Jace, he'd be next in line for the head of the Guardianship.

"You're too kind," I say sweetly.

Samuel grins over at Jace. "See, she thinks I'm nice."

"In comparison to my father, anyone's nice."

"Hey, now. That's my brother you're putting down—and your father. You know better than that," Samuel scolds but with the practiced, nice touch of someone very charming. Cunning. "I hate to have to run again, but I need to get to my room and sleep this rotation off. It's beat me down."

"Go right ahead. Just know you're going to miss a tantalizing evening full of worthless gossip and grabby older women," Jace says.

"What a shame," Samuel chuckles. "I'll see you two lovebirds later. Happy birthday, kid." Samuel ruffles Jace's hair and then cuts away, disappearing into the crowd like smoke.

"He seemed pleasant enough," I say experimentally.

"He is. He's not around much. He prefers staying on border rotations like what Maryse is doing. But when he does come home, he's actually one of the only nice Guardians I know," Jace murmurs.

I decide to question him anymore on the man, in case Jace gets offended by my lack of faith in his motivations. Instead, I ask, "What does one do on border rotations?"

"Stay out at the borders. They live in the Wall," Jace says, immediately bringing to my mind that massive, gray wall that encircles are huge city.

It keeps the demons out.

Ironic, considering most of the demons are living among us.

"In the Wall?"

"There's barracks and such in there," Jace replies, drawing me over to the center of the dance floor without me noticing. "They live there for a while and watch for demon activity, overlook a group of Guardians that are ready at all times for battle. It's a good job. One I'd like to have myself."

"But you can't?" I inquire.

Jace spins me in his arms a bit, placing one hand on my hip and interlocking the other with mine. "Father would never let me. It's too dangerous. He'd hate for me to get killed before I could give him his precious heir."

"Why does he want another heir? You're his heir," I murmur as Jace begins waltzing with me to the soft and pretty music being played by a band of humans on stage.

"He thinks he messed up with me. He probably wants to start fresh, corrupt another kids—enact different ways of torture in efforts to form the perfect, obedient child." Jace rolls his eyes, and then says, "Subject change. Can I ask you a question?"

"It obviously isn't if I'd like to dance," I say. "You appear to have made that decision on your own."

Jace offers a little grin before asking, "What's your favorite color?"

Shock floods across my face before I can hide it. "My favorite color?"

"Yeah." He nods, arching his brows with a smirk spreading over his mouth.

"Why?"

"Why not? I don't know anything about you, Clary. Except that you're a good dresser and not someone I'd want to piss off royally."

"Yet you do."

"Answer the question."

I roll my eyes and try to cover the fact that I don't know. I don't know my favorite color because I haven't thought about it in years. When you're a child, your favorite color is something special. It tells about who you are. If you're a girl, and you like blue, than you're a tomboy. If you like green, you're different, thinking outside the box. If you like pink, you're all girl—through and through. Yellow, you're a bright, sunny person.

Kids ask you your favorite color all the time. It's a great topic of debate for a young child.

But it's been so long since I've been young that the question stumps me for a moment.

"Clary?" Jace's face softens a little, becoming less amused. "It's a simple question. No need looking as if you're trying to make a scientific break through."

"I…Green. Green is my favorite color," I decide quickly.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Why would I not be?" I snap hotly.

Jace's brows arch again.

"Well, it's a stupid question," I huff in response, looking away from him as we spin in gentle circles.

Jace just chuckles slightly, shaking his head. "Why are you so easily angered, Clary?"

"You are, too!"

"Only when you're pushing my buttons. I'm not doing anything. Just trying to have a conversation."

"Well, maybe, I don't want to converse with you." I glare up at him. "We aren't friends."

"No, we're not." Jace's face darkens slightly, closing up. "And we don't have to be, either. I just thought it might be better." The song slows and Jace pulls us to a stop before dropping his hands from me and saying, "Thanks for the dance." And then he just walks away, leaving me by myself in the crowd full of Guardians I don't know and can't stand.

I've made an error. I wasn't thinking. I've been gaining a slight semblance of trust, and now, I've upset him and pushed him away.

So there's nothing for me to do but go after him.

* * *

**So. Clary's being rude. What's she gonna do to make it better? Hmmmmm. And how to y'all feel about Samuel. I don't trust him. I'm just sayin'.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: It took a long time, I know. But here it is. Finally. This is the last update of the evening. Also, I'd like to THANK all the beautiful people who reviewed and also I'd like to thank the new names I saw in the review list! Y'all took my word to heart last night, and I THANK YOU SO MUCH! Because not only did a lot more people review, it was such sweet, amazing stuff that I'm just honored. Seriously. HONORED. Please keep reviewing. Y'all make my day. I love all the reviews, from the really awesomely in depth-ones to the simple yet sweet I LIKE WHAT YOU'RE DOING WITH THIS ones. All of them are super fantastic! Thank y'all bunches and I hope everyone has a lovely night/evening!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I lose track of Jace in the crowd for a few minutes, and when I finally do find his golden hair again, I come up short.

He's talking to a tall, slim leggy blonde who bats her eyelashes at him shamelessly. She reaches in, brushes his arm occasionally, laughs delightedly at everything he says.

I feel my blood ignite, burning like fire in my veins.

"Bastard," I say under my breath, glaring with all my might over at him, hoping he will turn and see me and realize that I've caught him flirting with another woman. After all, he promised he would not be a cheater. Now, that's exactly what he looks like, and I wish to call him out on it, call him out on his lofty self-proclamation that he does not lie.

But Valentine appears and drags him away from the girl, handing Jace a glass of wine and talking to him rapidly. Then Valentine's eyes snap up and find me across the room. He walks over, pulling Jace behind him.

"Clary, there you are. Here, take this." He hands me my own glass of wine. "I'm going to make a toast."  
"Wouldn't it be more appropriate if the person making the toast was actually someone who truly wished me a happy birthday?" Jace inquires, arching his brows.

Valentine doesn't respond with anything but a glare, and then he walks up a few of the grand steps behind us and taps his glass gently. The action immediately quiets the room, simply because of his title alone, and everyone is suddenly listening, wearing bright, fake and garish smiles.

"Everyone, thank you for being here," Valentine says, smiling grandly. "As you know, next month will be my son's birthday."

I see Isabelle suddenly out of the corner of my eye. Without my guidance, she's worn a slightly frumpy, odd-looking dress that makes me cringe, but she doesn't notice as she catches my eye and waves like a lunatic.

I offer a small, less wild wave back.

"It's been a quick twenty-two years. I've watched him grow up, become a man." These lines are delivered with fake honesty. I know it's not true, what he's saying, the care he's putting into his voice. Jace must know, too, because he looks disgusted by it all.

Yet Valentine keeps on. "Jonathan. I'm proud of you. One day, you will be the leader of the Guardianship, and I simply know that you will do a wonderful job. Happy birthday, son."

The crowd erupts into applause, deafening.

It's a world of smiling, selfishly happy faces all clapping for the boy that's the most miserable of them all.

* * *

"Clary!"

I turn to find Simon on my way to the restroom, and I smile at him. "Hello, darling. How are you?"

"Great." He tugs at his waiter's uniform as he drifts closer to me, his eyes skimming up and down my dress once—quickly, as always. "You look…wow, you look really good."

I smile again, sweetly. "Thank you, Simon. You're always so flattering."

He flushes faintly. "Oh, yeah, sure. That's me. Um…where are you going?"

I arch an eyebrow and motion to the door that leads into the girls' room. Simon blushes crimson, as if he's committed a sin.

"Oh! I'm sorry."

I laugh just slightly. "Don't be. It's quite a natural occurrence, actually—the urge to use the restroom."

Simon ducks his head. "Right, right. Uh, so. That's some party, huh?"

"Oh, yes. The Guardians spare no expense, do they?"

"No, never." Simon rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes meet mine, finally, albeit timidly. "I…well, I saw all those people dancing. And I just…I thought about how you're teaching Isabelle and I how to dance. I just…well, I wanted to dance—test out those skills you've been attempting to teach me and my two left feet."

I want to grimace, but I force out another smile. "If it were just the two of us, Simon, I'd dance with you in a heartbeat. As it is, I do believe Jace might murder you if we danced together—especially on his birthday celebration night."

Simon nods rapidly. "Oh, yeah! That's what I meant—that it'd just be nice. It wasn't…it wasn't like I was asking you, or anything. Actually, I was. I was asking you because I'm a moron, and I don't know…you're just so pretty…and I can't get used to how pretty you are and, and—"

He's taken a blue streak, rambling and rambling on and on until I'm fidgeting and nervous—and for good reason.

Because suddenly Jace is appearing in the hallway, a calm but deadly expression on his face as he walks over to us and says, simply, "Simon. Leave."

Simon splutters, turns crimson, and then mutters, quickly and nervously but still begrudgingly, "Yes, sir." And then he's dashing away, leaving me to feel sorry for him and his humiliation.

I glare over at Jace. "There's no need to be so rude to him."

Jace just stares flatly back at me. "Yes, there is—there's a need to be rude to a man when he's trying, however pathetically, to woo your wife."

"So you _do_ remember I am your wife?" I inquire, arching my brows as if surprised. "It's strange how you can just forget and remember your marital status at will."

Jace arches a lazy brow in curiosity, as if he doesn't know.

"I saw you talking to that girl," I respond. "The blonde. Is that Kaelie?"

Jace's jaw flexes slightly. "Yes."

I nod, pursing my lips. "That's what I thought."

"Oh, so I can't even speak to another woman but you can teach another man how to fox trot?"

"You weren't _speaking_ to her. There's a difference between speaking and flirtation. Don't think that I'm not intelligent enough to know the difference."

"I wasn't doing anything but talking to her, Clary. You weren't standing there with us, so you don't know."

"You're a hypocrite. If I had been laughing with another man, you would jump to conclusions, as well. You did jump to conclusions with Simon!"

"I didn't jump to anything! I was standing there, listening to him confess how beautiful he thinks you are! Is that the kind of a thing a man says to a woman for no reason?"

"Maybe he just thinks I'm beautiful!"

"Or maybe he wants to fuck you like every other man that looks at you!"

My hand snaps over his cheek—a loud, sharp smack that makes his head jerk to the side. I feel the sting of the impact against my palm.

There's a moment of stillness, shock from both of us, and then Jace has me slammed up against the wall, pinned there, and I think he might hit me back but what he does is much more surprising.

His lips attack mine, harsh and angry and rough with pent-up frustration. His pressure is relentless, as well as his tongue as it thrusts into my mouth, as well as his teeth as they scrape my bottom lip painfully.

What's even more shocking still is my body's reaction to his sudden assault.

I'm kissing him back, my hands in his hair, pulling, yanking, and twisting. My lips are just as unforgiving as his, my tongue just as strong against his own.

I feel it now, that low hum in my body, that tingle inside me, the heat between us. It's been there this whole time but now it's amplified by our contact.

Something is off, the urgent way in which I feel I need him. I've never quite felt so accepting of this before, never quite felt as if I don't have him now that I will scream and fall apart.

Jace must feel the same way because he's sliding me down the wall, pushing me inside the restroom, which appears to be thankfully empty, and then he's groping for the dock lock blindly, without ever breaking the contact of our mouths, and he's locking the door.

The soft click echoes through the room resoundingly.

I'm being rammed back up against the wall, and this time, Jace is pulling up my skirts, grabbing for my legs underneath, lifting them and then I cross them instinctually around his waist, bringing us together where we need to be.

I feel him against me, hard and probing against my damp panties, and I suddenly wish that there were no clothes between us, that it was just us and he was soothing that ache inside me, that ache that's throbbing for him now like never before.

His lips break away from mine to run hotly over my cheek, my jaw, my temples, down to my neck. He's everywhere, so hot and demanding and rough, and he's rolling his hips against mine, driving me crazy, making me moan horribly loud.

Then I feel him biting at my neck gently at first but with more pressure the more worked up he is getting. It hurts, but the hurt and pleasure run concurrent through my body, down from my neck, to my stomach, to that pulsing place between my legs. Each time I feel his teeth graze my skin, I jump and tense and clench.

And then I'm begging him and I don't know why and I know I should stop. But I can't. Everything is hazy and dizzying in my frazzled mind. I just hear him breathing so harshly against me, hear myself saying, "Jace…oh, Jace, please, _please_," between gasps and moans.

He stops slamming his hips up against mine long enough to slip his hand between us, and then I feel his fingers pushing past my panties and touching me directly _there_ for the first time. I'm so unlike myself and so aroused that I don't even jerk or jump away from him. I just moan, especially loud when I feel his index finger stroking me, feeling how slick I am, and then slipping inside me.

"Jace," I gasp, on the brink already. I bury my face into his neck, feeling his pulse pound against my lips as I kiss him there and then lick the sweat that's collecting on his skin.

"Fuck, Clary, fuck," he's chanting under his breath, moving his finger in and out of me once. Twice. A third time and now he's added another finger. It's a little painful, and I feel myself stretch slightly, but nothing can take away from the pleasure. If anything, the pain makes it better. "You are so damn tight," he groans into my shoulder, his breathing unsteady.

I feel my heart pounding everywhere, all over my body, and my head is so heavy that I can't hold it up. Everything within me is tensed, unbearably tensed. I can hardly breathe yet I still manage to find enough air to say, "Please, Jace. Please don't stop…please."

Then his fingers curl slightly within me, and that's it. I snap and I have to bite down onto his neck to keep from screaming loud enough to let everyone in the hotel know what indecent things we are doing. I feel myself clenching around his fingers strongly, rhythmically, and then, when it's over, he slips them out and curls them a little again, as he goes, making me moan.

His erection is rubbing back against me, more feverishly than ever, and he's breathing faster and faster into my neck, and I'm holding him against me, getting worked up yet again from his pleasure and from the feeling of his desire in physical form pressing against me in such an intimate area.

"I want to be inside you so bad," he's whispering into my ear, sounding agonized. "You're so tight. And wet and hot and…oh, fuck, Clary." His hands tighten painfully on my hips, and he's shuddering, groaning into my neck as he obviously finds his pleasure at the thought of being buried within me.

And then we're still, both of us panting desperately, but I still want more. I want more of him because whatever has come over me is not relenting yet.

So I grab the back of his neck and roll my lips towards his ear and say, "I want you to take me upstairs."

Jace's lips are on mine again, hot and lingering and forceful. "Whatever you want," he says helplessly which makes me smile.

And then a small sound shatters whatever spell we're under, and we both turn towards the bathroom stalls—and the one stall door that is closed, the one neither of us noticed.

"Who the hell is in here?" Jace demands loudly to them, stepping back from me and allowing me to stand on my shaky legs. "Answer me!"

The door swings open and Isabelle of all people walk out, her eyes wide and focused on the floor. She begins babbling immediately. "I'm sorry. I was just doing my business when you two came in, and I panicked so I stood up on the toilet but then my foot fell in and that's so gross that I gasped and you guys heard me and then I knew Jace would be even more mad if I didn't just come out, but please don't be mad at me because it's not my fault you chose to get it on in a public area." She nods and then reaches down to pluck a piece of wet toilet paper from her soaked foot—the one that obviously took the dunk in the toilet bowl.

"Jesus Christ, Izzy!" Jace is running his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth, frustrated sexually and otherwise. "Why the hell didn't you just say something when we came in?"

"Because it was already embarrassing because you guys were already dry humping each other, and I just thought if I could hide on the toilet until you guys left that it would be okay because I'd never mention it ever to you guys."

"You're never mentioning it ever, anyway!" Jace warns, glaring at her and pointing a finger.

"No, I promise." Izzy's eyes go wide and she holds out her hands. "Promise, Jace. I mean, I wish it never happened because this is super weird, right? I mean, I know we're all grown here—well, except for Clary but seeing as how what you just went through, she seems pretty grown, too—but still…it's just…weird."

"Isabelle, please leave," Jace mutters, his hands running down his face now.

"Okay. I have to wash my hands first." She walks over to the sink like a little child and scrubs her hands clean, and then she quickly walks out of the bathroom, leaving a wet footprint trailing behind her.

Then Jace and I are alone, and though I'm still feeling incredibly attracted to him, I'm also more in control of the feeling. It's not overwhelming me as much now because it's not as new.

It's still a drugged, hazy kind of feeling, though, and I…

Drugged.

"Jace?" I whisper.

"What?" he asks, glancing over at me carefully. His eyes are dilated still, as I know mine must be, too.

"Did you…do you feel funny? Besides just…well, just what was happening?"

Jace's jaw tightens because he already sees where I'm going with this.

"The wine…the wine your father gave us—I only took a sip, but—"

The pieces click into place for Jace, and I see him turn almost enraged before he says, surprisingly calm, "I'm going to have a chat with my father, Clary. Stay here." And on that ominous note, he leaves.

* * *

**Valentine is so weird. Ok. Tell me what y'all think! Bathroom hanky-panky gross or kind of hot in a forbidden, dangerous sort of way? Let me know! (:**


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note: I'M HORRIBLE! AH! I'm going to do something awful to you guys. I'm going to give y'all a short chapter and just one at that. I'm so sorry. I'm just really stressed/busy and I can't find anymore time tonight to write! I'm so horribly sorry! I'll make it up to y'all tomorrow with three chapters (hopefully!) and yes, I am freaking out that I'm leaving it on an odd number. Ugh.**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I wait in the apartment, sitting on the edge of the couch stiffly.

Jace has been gone for three hours.

I tried to find them again in the halls after he'd left the restroom, but to no avail. Too embarrassed to risk seeing Isabelle again, I decided just to come back up to the penthouse and wait.

Now, I've been waiting so long that I feel uneasy. What if something happens? What if Jace manages to ruin things, my plans? I wouldn't put this past him.

But just as I let my mind begin to wander into dangerous territory, the door swings open viciously and Jace marches in, kicking it shut behind him. I flinch at the sound.

He paces back and forth, his steps jerky and brimming with fury. He's tensed, ready to snap at the slightest thing.

So I whisper, in a very calm, sweet voice, "Jace?"

"I hate that man," he growls, running his hands through his hair, pulling at it sharply so it stands up around his head wildly. "I really do hate him. He's such a damn control freak! Everything has to be his way just because he's a fucking psychopath!" Jace's hand suddenly shoots out, raking across the teacart, spilling the dishes down onto the floor, shattering most of them.

I shy away from him internally but force myself to remain calm on the outside.

"I'm so damn sick of it! He's been this way my whole life, and now, when I'm turning twenty-fucking-two and married, he's still treating me like a snot nosed kid!" Jace is turning red underneath the gold of his skin, the pulse at his throat hammering so hard that I can see it pulsating under his skin. "He's so obsessive and paranoid about all this shit! He's a serious nutcase! And then he wants to talk bad about my mother? It's so fucking ironic."

I blink rapidly at the profanities before clearing my throat and saying, quietly, "Come sit down." I pat the space next to me gently.

He walks across the room twice more before coming over and dropping onto the edge of the couch, jerking his leg up and down, humming with energy and fiery anger.

There's nothing I can say, so I just reach out and place my hand lightly on the top of his arm, where his muscle is hard and tense beneath his suit jacket.

It's a small gesture, but it has the desired effect. He slumps slightly, relaxing under my hand just a fraction. It's amazing what a gentle touch can do, how it can soothe you. I wish that my own mother had been more giving with these kinds of things, but she wasn't. Isn't.

Jace's head is suddenly in his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "If I scared you."

"You didn't," I say, even though he did. I wait for a few minutes, making sure he will calm down, before I brave asking, "What did Valentine say when you confronted him?"

"Just that he was taking matters into his own hands since I was being such a chicken shit because I wouldn't fucking rape you. He's such a bastard, Clary." Jace glances up at me, briefly, before putting his head in his hands again. "He always has things go his way. Like…this one time, when we were visiting the borders and sleeping out in the barracks and such, I saw this little yellow kitten—which is incredibly rare out in the Wild Lands. I befriended it immediately because it was so friendly and I was only eight. I thought it was so cool because my father, of course, wouldn't let me have a pet. But then, when Father found out I'd been sneaking it into the Wall at night and feeding it, he told me I had to kill it."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because he said that it was too attached to me now. That I'd just crippled it by giving it food and love. That it was dependent on me now and better off dead because we'd have to leave soon anyway."

I grimace and inquire, carefully, "Did you? Kill it?"

"Hell no. I was too much of a coward for it, and Father killed it himself—in front of me. He rang its little neck, like snapping a twig." Jace inhales once and then looks over at me, his face pained. "I couldn't kill Sebastian either, Clary. He was…he was laying there—dying. He pissed himself and was crying and he kept…he kept getting this glazed look in his eye and calling out for his mom—like she was there—and the smell…God, that smell. His flesh was _burning_. And he was begging me. Begging me just to kill him and get it over with, when he was conscious enough. He kept grabbing at my hands and pleading with me just to make it stop." Jace's jaw works a few times, and his eyes glisten just slightly, his voice starting to become choked. "And I couldn't do it. I just _couldn't_. I was too damn selfish and scared. I thought I'd carry it around with me the rest of my life, and now, I carry the guilt of not having fulfilled his wish. I just held him and did nothing like a coward for ten whole minutes as his body was eaten away." Jace swallows, hard and looks down at his trembling hands as they hang between his knees. "Maybe Father is right about a few things, about me being scared shitless to ever do anything."

I'm silent for a moment, my mind working. I try decide what to say, if anything, but then, my instincts get the best of me and I say, "Jace, having a heart is nothing to be ashamed over. Having compassion doesn't make you a coward."

"If I had compassion, I would have killed Sebastian—and would have never been nice to that cat. I knew it wasn't going to end well. I knew my father wasn't going to like it. It was my fault he even got his neck snapped."

"You can't go through your whole life not forming attachments to things because you think they make you weak, Jace."

"It's just easier not to, don't you think?" He looks over at me, his eyes genuinely searching and curious. "You don't have any attachments, do you? Maybe to your mother, but that's it, isn't it? And you're so cold…and I talk as though it disgusts me but…but sometimes, I wish I could be like that—detached. It's easier that way. It keeps you from getting hurt—and others, too. It has to be easier."

"The grass is always greener on the other side, darling." I smooth my hand down his arm slowly, watching its progress so I don't have to look at him directly.

"But you didn't answer my question—not really. It's easier—to be the way you are, isn't it?"  
I bite my lip, debate for a moment, but the words rush through anyway, as if I hadn't thought about them at all. "Not always. It's very…lonely."

"I'd rather be lonely than afraid and guilty."

"That's only because you don't know loneliness."

"I do know it—all too well, I'm afraid. I'm lonely every day—lonely and guilty."

My eyes risk a glance at Jace, who is frowning a little desperately, and I see his eyes, his confused, isolated, miserable eyes.

He's a Guardian.

He has it all.

Wealth, a beautiful place to live, a place to belong, a throne to acquire. He will soon rule over it all. He has both parents, he has had a luxurious childhood, at least in monetary ways, and he's been given opportunities most humans would kill for.

And yet.

Yet he's dying, consumed with his own sense of grief and loyalty and burden and misery. He's drowning in his father's commands, in the weight of the world on his shoulders, in the loss of innocence and childhood taken.

It's the first time I look in his eyes and see something more than arrogance or playfulness or anger or lust. I see something much more important. And much more dangerous.

I see a piece of me.

* * *

**Hm. What do y'all think? Leave me lots of reviews yet again, please! I respond to all of them! Also, y'all are going to like where I'm heading with these next few chapters. Uh-huh! (:**


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note: HEY Y'ALL! I know it kind of sucks that I don't have a particular "time" that I update. I feel the need to apologize to y'all for this. It's just...I'm not good with deadlines. I procrastinate things, anyway, and I think if I feel like I HAVE to have a chapter up at a certain time, it'll be like a chore for me! And then the work will be worse. So, anyway. Just to let y'all know.**

**Also, this will be the first of three updates this evening. Don't get spoiled now, y'all. This is a one time deal for the week. Anyway, ENJOY! (:**

* * *

Chapter Thirty

There's a ringing sound cutting through the delicious haze of my sleep, drawing me out, waking me up.

I shift in the bed, completely warm and content, but then I feel something move next to me, and my eyes fly open in fear.

But it's just Jace, lying on his stomach with his face turned from me, his arms stretching over his head as he groans at the phone, which has obviously woken him, too.

I blink, confused as to how I went to bed last night thinking there was nothing odd with Jace being beside me. My senses rush back, and I wonder how I could ever have related to him the previous evening. We are nothing alike. We can't be.

Jace groans again before reaching out and groping for the phone on the bedside table blindly. He picks it up and holds it close to his ear. "What?"

There's a buzzing I can't quite make out despite how hard I'm straining to hear.

"Is that so?" Jace drawls. "All right. I'll be down in a few minutes." He hangs the phone up roughly and literally rolls himself out of bed. Then he stretches to the ceiling, running his hands roughly through his already messy bed hair. His sleepy eyes find mine, and he says, "Morning."

"Good morning," I reply calmly.

"I have to go to take over Maryse's post in the Wall for a few weeks. She's coming home to see Isabelle—finally."

"Why are you going? Didn't you say you couldn't have such a job because of the risk?"

"Uncle Samuel told Father he needed to let me go. Father must have agreed just to smooth things over between us—for a bit, anyway." Jace rubs his hands down his face tiredly. "I'll be gone a month or so."

"Oh."

Jace offers a smirk. "Don't sound so upset, Clary. I might not be able to leave you."

I simply roll my eyes and he disappears into the bathroom to get ready.

Only a few minutes later he's walking back, scrubbing at his freshly washed hair and putting on his shoes.

We don't speak.

But then, he starts towards the door and says, "Bye," and I suddenly remember the night previous and his tear-filled eyes and his horrible stories of his childhood, of his opinion on himself, and I find myself screwing up again.

"Jace, wait!"

He pauses, glancing back at me carefully where I've climbed off the bed. I drift over to him, trying to organize my thoughts and keep myself from saying something ridiculously stupid, but still, I can't help but blurt, "If I don't see you before your birthday…well, happy birthday."

Jace stares at me for a long time, his expression carefully guarded, so much so that it irritates me and gives me a glimpse of what it must be like for him when I do the same.

But he's not as good as hiding his emotions as I am, not in the long term, so he grins and his eyes sparkle beautifully. I notice he has a very pretty smile—when he's actually smiling instead of giving that infernal smirk.

"Thank you, honey," he replies, leaning down. I expect him to kiss me, and he does—just on my forehead, not my lips. And then he's gone.

* * *

"I'm so excited," Isabelle giggles almost breathlessly. It's the most feminine thing I've ever seen her do. "What do you think about this dress?" She holds it up for my inspection.

I'm sitting on her couch, my mind distracted. I haven't been getting the information I need. I've slacked off, let myself get enamored by Jace and his own childhood problems—which are of no real interest to me in the long term. While he is away, however, it will be the perfect time to get more information, to begin associating with the other Guardians in the hotel, to begin forming friendships as a mean to information.

"Clary?"

I blink, looking over at Isabelle as she holds the red dress up towards me excitedly. "Oh, no. I'm not fond of that one. I think you should go with a nice purple one. That's much more demure for your mother's arrival."  
I

sabelle nods seriously, taking in all of my words as if they are of the utmost importance, and this is such a strange feeling for me, to be listened to so closely. "Yes, okay. I can see that." Isabelle tosses the red dress onto a chair filled with other discarded dressing options before she disappears back into her bedroom.

I inhale deeply, glancing out at the window. The sky is beautiful today, bright and blue and clear as a bell. I wonder if it is clear, too, where Jace is. I wonder if he's so far away that the weather is different. This city is so big, and the Wonderer is at the center of it. He must have to travel a full day just to reach the Wall.

My wandering musings are interrupted when Isabelle bounces back into the room wearing a royal purple number, one I immediately nod at. "That is perfect."

Isabelle grins. "Really?"

"Yes. It's very lovely, darling."

She beams and jumps up and down on her bare feet, so I give her a look and she calms a bit, trying to be more lady-like. She holds herself the way I taught her: stomach in, back straight, shoulders back. And then she nods to herself. "Okay. I think I'm ready for this."

"Of course you are. I've taught you well." I give her a small smile.

Izzy rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Now, you're starting to sound like Jace."

The off-handed comment sends a shock down my system, but Isabelle doesn't appear to notice as she pads over to me and flops down next to me, her legs spread like a boy's.

I don't correct her, though, because she's frowning now, looking worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I arch an eyebrow at her in doubt.

That's all it takes for Izzy to cave, and I wish everyone were so easy.

"Its just…Mom doesn't get along with me too awfully well. I don't think she really…I don't think she really likes me," Isabelle admits, picking at the hem of her dress.

"Well, I don't think that's any fault of yours. It most certainly isn't a reflection on you, either." I reach over and pat her hand gently.

"You like me, don't you, Clary?" she inquires, grabbing my hand before I can retract it.

I nod despite myself. "Yes, Isabelle. You're rather crude and sometimes inappropriate, but I like you. You have a good heart. You just need a little direction, is all."

"I'm sorry about ruining you and Jace's time in the bathroom last night."

I jerk my hand away from hers, glaring to hide the blush that threatens to creep up my cheeks. "I thought we were never going to speak of that again."

"Oh, Clary, c'mon! It's not something I can't just never mention it to you again—you're my friend! At least, _I_ count you as my friend. Besides, I wanted to speak with you about it anyway… did you and Jace go upstairs like you were talking about?"

"Isabelle!" I stand up, scowling down at her. "This is not an appropriate topic for conversation."

"I don't have anyone else to talk to these kinds of things about. I never have. I've never had anyone to talk to about sex except Jace and Alec. And they were no help, as you can imagine. Except Jace always said things you'd term highly inappropriate. I didn't even know what to expect from sex until I married…until I married Sebastian." Isabelle's bottom lip pokes out, her eyes becoming a little glassy as her hand moves unconsciously to her stomach, where her child is just a tiny thing inside her. "He was always so sweet about it. He went so slow with me that first time…he never got rough with me or anything. But he did like to talk dirty."

"Isabelle!" I'm horrified and blushing despite myself.

"What? It's just the truth! He liked that kind of thing, which is surprising since he was so mild-mannered. I guess it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for in the sack." She smiles fondly.

"Isabelle, please."

"Tell me if you and Jace did anything! It's fun to talk about—just us girls."

"I beg to differ." I cross my arms in defiance.

"So you didn't do anything. I figured as much. I know I ruined the mood for you two. I'm real sorry about that."

"Don't be," I interrupt quickly before she can go on. "If you hadn't, we might have done more than we did—and only because Valentine slipped something into our drinks."

If I expect Isabelle to be surprised, she isn't.

She just blinks and says, "Yeah. Uncle Valentine's a real weirdo—so obsessive about an heir."

"Does he do this kind of thing often?" I inquire in horror but I'm actually curious to see how much she knows.

"Oh, no! Probably not, anyway. I just know when he wants something, he does everything to get it—and I mean everything. Nothing stands in his way."

I nod a few times, my blood turning cold in my veins. Then a new thought comes to me, and I arch a brow at Izzy. "Is Samuel your father, Isabelle?"

"Uncle Sam? Oh, no! My father is Robert. My mother is Uncle Valentine and Uncle Sam's baby sister."

"Oh, I see. I met your Uncle Sam last night."

"Yeah, he's back. I'm glad. He's always been real good to us—Jace, Alec, and me. He never had any kids of his own…not that lived. His wife died in childbirth—before I was even born."

"That's awful," I murmur.

"Yeah, it was bad, to hear Aunt Celine tell it. He went into some kind of depression—for a long time. Anyway, by the time I came along, he was starting to get better. He loved kids, so he always was trying to take care of Jace, and Alec, and me. He was always really fun—and listened to us. It was kind of rare. Him and Aunt Celine are probably the only adults in the Guardianship that like kids, anyway." Isabelle tilts her head, her eyes going distant for a moment, but then she grins and asks, "Will you do my hair?"

And the conversation is over.

* * *

**More info on Uncle Sam...UNCLE SAM! Oh, man. I wrote this whole chapter without making the Uncle Sam connection. I should change his name because that's stupid. But oh, well. Just ignore that. I'll call him Uncle Samuel from now on. Anyway, I'm about to read and respond to all the reviews I saw a minute ago! SUPER EXCITED! Y'all are the best! SERIOUSLY. AMAZING. I'm so flattered. I've been noticing a big trend in guests, as well, who comment with good stuff that I can't respond to so I'll address those (if I have any this time around) in the next Author's Note! **


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note: Ok. So I read the reviews, and I shall try to answer all the questions asked by guests that I could not answer privately. Someone asked why, if Clary was raised to be the "perfect" wife, why is she so cold? Well, she's sixteen. She doesn't want to be married, especially to a Guardian, and she's a little resentful of being used in the way she's being used. So it comes out as coldness sometimes, even though, ideally, she shouldn't do that. She's not perfect, though, and that's why it's hard for her to be all warm and happy all the time. It's just not her at all. Jocelyn chose Clary to do this, anyway, because she was fiery and knew Jace liked that. Someone else asked what time it is where I am, because they want to know when I update. Well, honestly, I update all times of the day and night-whenever I can. Unfortunately, it'd be just better to get on whenever you can and update! I'm sorry because that's a really crap answer, and I'm sorry I can't give you like a definite time when I update! :( **

**Okay, a few more notes. Someone gave me a lovely review and then proceeded to apologize for their English! The horror! Your English was lovely, if you're reading this! Don't apologize for it! Another person said that they liked how there was an actual plot in this story besides a Jace/Clary love story-which was just a precious thing to say and I thank you!**

**I'd also like to express my thanks to all the people reading AND reviewing. I'm getting lots of "new" faces, and I'm so, so, so, so flattered and thankful.**

**I'm stunned and grateful by all the love and kindness I'm getting from y'all! Y'all make my day each and everyday! Y'all are all so respectful and sweet! I just don't even know what to say because y'all are ALL so awesome! **

**That is all. Enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One

"Clary?"

I glance over my shoulder, hoping to see Simon, but the voice is too deep for him, anyway.

Samuel walks towards me briskly, smiling grandly. "I was hoping to see you around here."

I glance over the half-full dinning room that I was hoping to slip into at an odd time of day—between lunch and dinner—so that I could avoid someone like Valentine. But this is what I want, anyway—to make "friends." To gleam some information.

So I smile, a sweet and slow smile. "Hello, Samuel. It's a pleasure to see you."

"The pleasure's all mine, dear." Samuel kisses my hand. "May I dine with you?"

"Of course," I reply, letting him rest my hand on his arm and lead me further into the dinning room.

He picks a table in the middle of the room and pulls out my chair for me.

Once we're both seated and have ordered our dinner, he smiles over at me and laces his fingers together. "So. How long have you and Jace been married exactly?"

I do the calculations in my head. "About a month now."

"How does married life find you?"

"Well, thank you."

"Jace seems taken by you."

At this, my polite façade slips in face of shock. "Does he? I highly doubt that. We seem to be at each other's throats most of the time."

Samuel laughs. "Ah, yes. Well, the line between love and hate can sometimes be blurred, Miss Clary."

I almost revolt at the mention of love, but I keep my face smooth.

Samuel continues. "Jace confided in me that he finds you very intriguing. It's quite the accomplishment, dear. Jace usually doesn't notice any woman very long. In fact, he doesn't notice anything very long—nothing but fighting. It's just who he is. But you've captured his interest."

I offer a faked smile. "He's an interesting character himself, one I'm not sure I fully understand."

"Well, ask away. I know Jace fairly well. If there's anything your curious about, I can help," Samuel suggests, friendly.

I smile again. "I'm sure Jace will become less of a mystery to me as time goes on. You, however, are quite the new face around here. Perhaps you could tell me of yourself? Jace seems very fond of you."

"Jace and I have always been close. My brother…well, my brother can sometimes get lost in his own thirst for power. His temper is quite considerate, as well. So Jace needed another father figure in his life that was not so harsh—one I filled in for gratefully. As you may or may not know already, my wife died giving birth to our son—a son that was a still born." Samuel's face stays the same, but his eyes, which are now fixed casually on his wine glass, darken with pain and deep, age-old grief. "So I had no one left. I was…horrified. The pain was…well, considerable. I'd always wanted a child of my own, you see. And Jace, when he was just two years old, came over to me after I'd been informed of my wife's death. Everyone else around me was crying and offering their condolences—which mean nothing when you've just lost someone so dear, two someone's—and Jace just walked over to me and sat down beside me and reached over, patted my knee. He didn't say a word. Just patted my knee."

I smile and tilt my head. "That's precious."

"Yes." Samuel smiles himself, a real smile—or one that certainly appears to be real. "Jace was a very sensitive, compassionate child. Unfortunately, Valentine beat most of it out of him—at least on the surface. It's still there, though—his heart. Maybe you can find it again, Clary."

I take a sip of water. "Yes, perhaps. I've certainly seen glimpses of a good soul in him."

"He tries to hide it. His father has made him think that it's a sign of weakness—having a heart. But it's not. I try to remind Jace of this, but he doesn't listen to me much. I'm not here long enough to preach to him. But you might just have a chance."

"You love him very much, don't you?"

"It's hard not to, seeing the sides of him that I've seen. It's the same reason why Isabelle is so in love with him—the same reason Alec worshiped the ground he walked on. Because we saw him as a child, before my brother hardened him so."

"Alec? Jace seems to hold a great fondness for Alec, as well."

"Yes, Jace did love Alec—like his own brother. They were very close. But even though Jace was younger than Alec by a year, Alec seemed like the little brother to Jace. You see, Clary, when Jace was a child…he had this…light about him. Like his mother, Celine had when she was young, as well. You can't help but be drawn to them, to love them, to want to do everything for them. Jace was the leader of his cousins. They looked up to him."

I nod a few times, keeping my smile in place on my lips. "What happened to Alec? How did he pass?"

Samuel inhales deeply and frowns, tapping at his wine glass. "He died in a fight. Demons."

I notice the sudden vagueness in Samuel's voice. "Was Jace present?"

"Yes. But as for the details of that night, you'd have to ask Jace." Samuel clears his throat and tries to offer a smile to lighten the mood. "Are you enjoying your stay at the Wonderer so far?"

I don't try to keep the subject on Alec's death. Instead, I go along with Samuel's new topic. "Yes. It's a lovely hotel."

"I'm sure it's a big change for you. I know humans in this city are not as well taken care of as they should be."

I arch my brows, unable to keep the motion hidden. "Do you?"

Samuel laughs. "Don't seem so surprised, Clary. Not all Guardians are as cold as you might think. Many of us believe it is time for a change in the way things are done, in the way humans are treated. After all, the Guardians were created to be protectors—not dictators."

My breath is nearly stolen away, but I have to play this close to the chest. I have to say the right things, and step lightly. Messing up here could expose my plan. "That's very interesting. I had no idea such ideals were even spoken of."

"Well, it's hardly _right_ how we treat humans. You, as a human, surely would agree. Your injustice is, in fact, ten fold, being a Date. Dates are often treated even worse—treated horribly by the Guardians and their own race. It's wrong. The system has become…broken."

"And who shall endeavor to fix it?" I ask calmly, arching a brow.

Samuel cracks a grin. "I guess we'll have to see who will step up. It will take great courage."

I smile, and Samuel changes the subject again, but internally, I am wondering if he feels like he is the man that has that courage.

* * *

"Clarissa!"

I jump and gasp at Celine's sudden appearance into my living room. I'm curled up on the couch after my dinner with Samuel, a book in front of me, my mind running over each word the man said. Decoding.

"Yes, ma'am?" I inquire, arching my brows. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Maryse is just here, and Isabelle was curious to see if you'd join us three for dinner," Celine murmurs, wringing her pale hands. She's looking more lively today, if not a little pale, as usual, but her eyes are bright. Here in the present.

"Oh, I'm afraid I've already eaten—" I begin.

"Please, come? Please?" Celine asks, her eyes wide and innocent like a child's. Purely pleading with no ulterior motives.

So I have no choice but to agree.

* * *

Maryse is a pretty woman, if not a little severe looking. She's got a touch of gray streaking her dark black hair, and she's got a very sharp, unusual face. It's easy to see whom Isabelle favors, though Isabelle is much softer looking, more approachable.

Maryse has not said much the whole dinner. She simply sits stiffly beside her daughter, facing Celine and I put staring down at her plate without much expression.

Isabelle has tried to engage her in the conversation helplessly a few times, but has now given up and sits, defeated, pushing her food around with her fork.

Celine hasn't spoken, either, because she is surprisingly shy in such a busy setting as the dinning room at night. I think it might be because of the strange looks she gets repeatedly from her brethren. She seems small and panicked, like a little mouse corner and ready to bolt.

I clear my throat after a long, awkward pause. "So, Mrs. Lightwood, do you enjoy your post at the Wall?"

Maryse barely meets my eyes. "Yes, it's a nice way to spend the time."

"What does the land outside the Wall look like? It is very wild?"

"Yes. Lots of trees," she murmurs.

"I hear there's an ocean not too far away," I try again, offering my most dazzling smile. "Have you ever seen it?"

"No," is her curt answer.

Isabelle and my own eyes meet, and she blushes, ashamed.

But I am not hurt by Maryse's lack of personality. I just nod a few times. "Well, perhaps one day."

"I don't like the water," Maryse blurts, her eyes flickering around—anywhere but Isabelle.

"I don't either," Izzy interjects quickly, seemingly thrilled and surprised by this small similarity between her and her mother.

Maryse doesn't respond in any way.

So I try to keep the conversation going the rest of the night, but my social skills can only go so far when no one else around me has any.

Finally, though, the dinner is over, and we all part to go back to our respective rooms—all but myself and Celine.

She walks with me to my room, humming a strange, slightly haunting melody under her breath.

When I arrive at the door of my apartment and turn to her, ready to tell her goodnight and hope that she will leave me, she interrupts abruptly with, "I know."

My heart drops, my stomach twists, and for a moment, I can't breathe. As normally as I can, I inquire, "Know what?"

"I know that you and Jace will be much better now," she says, smiling and soothing my paranoia. She reaches in, as if she's going to touch my cheek, but she pulls back and then smiles shyly. "Yes. When he gets back…you will see, Clarissa. Everything will work out, eventually. Everything will be as it should be—everything. When we all die, it will all be right."

I'm disturbed by this, a frown marring my face, but Celine is beaming as if she has not said anything atrociously strange, and then she just drifts away, moving gracefully and quietly—like smoke.

* * *

**Hm. What do y'all think?**


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note: Y'all kill me! The people that review with a simple, JUST LET THEM HAVE SEX really make me chuckle! Y'all are hilarious, and I hope y'all all have a great, great night! **

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two

The weeks pass by surprisingly fast.

I socialize more and more with other Guardians, building up a few friends. I pick and choose carefully who I wish to be close to. The ones I try to befriend most heavily are the ones that are the gossipmongers. They are the ones that will be beneficial to me.

One day, as I am sitting in my room, trying to sort out in my mind again who Aline (the woman that has a monumental lust for Jace) told me was having an affair on who.

The Guardians are devious liars, and I'm getting overwhelmed by all the different stories I am receiving.

But then there's a knock at my door, scattering my thoughts, and Celine drifts in, holding a book to her chest with big eyes. Her hair isn't pinned back or even fixed and it falls around her shoulders in wispy, blonde waves that fly away in places, making her look like a child. She's wearing a nightgown despite the late afternoon.

"Clarissa? May I sit with you?"

"Of course," I reply, smiling and patting the spot next to me.

She moves over, sitting down as close as possible without touching me, and then she sits the large, old photo album on her knees and peers over at me.

"Today's my Jace's birthday."

"Is it?" I inquire with another small smile. "Can you contact him in any way?"

"Yes, but I don't think I will." Celine frowns, her eyes big and horrified. "It would be the wrong thing to do."

"Why?" I ask carefully, a frown of my own appearing.

"It just would be."

"It might make him happy—"

"No!" she almost yells, shaking her head rapidly.

I blink, drawing away from her slightly, my mind running.

Celine blinks quickly for a few moments, her chest hitching up and down, her body shaking slightly. But then she's taking these big, deep breaths, and finally, she looks halfway normal again. "I apologize, Clarissa. I don't know what's come over me. I feel…ill today. I don't want to worry Jace. That's all."

I nod, but I'm not sold. I'm also certainly not about to argue with her at this point.

"I came to see if you'd like to look at these old pictures of Jace with me. It will bring him here in spirit," she murmurs, smoothing her small hands down the front of the photo album.

I offer a slightly shaky smile. "I'd love to."

Celine nods. "Good." She cracks open the book, exposing first a picture of Jace as a baby—ten months, she said. He was, not surprisingly, a beautiful baby—a perfect round head, a few wisps of golden curl, chubby cheeks, huge eyes like golden coins.

Then she's turning the pages, and Jace is a toddler—even more perfect, slightly slimmer. He's got a head full of golden silk curls, a big grin on his face in every picture. There are pictures of him with a baby Isabelle, holding her very carefully in his arms, his face concentrating on keeping her safe yet smiling at the same time, in awe of the little creature in his arms.

Then there are pictures of him and a dark headed boy with startlingly blue eyes, both of them with their arms slung around each other.

Celine tells me this is the infamous Alec.

Then there are pictures of Jace growing older. Pictures of him training. Pictures of him with strange looking weapons. Pictures of him in the city park with a stunningly pretty Celine, whom was actually dressed up in the black-and-white photo.

The picture that draws the most interest from me, however, is not the picture of him sweetly kissing baby Isabelle's forehead or wrinkling his nose at her with a sagging diaper—but it's the picture of him in front of a bunch of trees—a forest, actually, something I've only seen in books.

And he's holding a little kitten close to his chest, grinning with all his might, cradling that baby cat so gingerly, as if he's afraid it might break.

It's the last picture he's smiling in.

* * *

Jace is coming home.

Isabelle tells me.

She's thrilled, of course, and she doesn't mention her mother's impending departure.

I think she's more relieved Maryse is leaving.

Now, I walk downtown, searching. I'm searching for something very particular, despite myself. I'm not sure why I'm doing it. It's just the impulse that has grabbed me and taken hold, and there's nothing I can do about it but search for three whole hours until I find what I'm looking for.

And then I'm going back to the Wonderer.

I go straight back to the room, the box tucked under my arm, and when I walk inside the apartment, I know he's here. I can hear him rustling around.

"Jace?" I inquire, almost smiling. Once again, despite myself.

_Get a grip, Clary_.

But I can't.

I'm excited, excited to give him his gift. I feel like I did when I was seven, when I worked at Mr. Montgomery's candy store sweeping up for him for two whole weeks without once spending the dimes he gave me on any of his goodies. I saved up and bought my mom a locket. It was an ugly, cheap little thing, but I'd been so excited to give it to her, to see her reaction, that none of that had mattered.

She cried when I gave it to her, and she hugged me longer than she ever had before.

Now, I'm nearly bouncing on my toes, impatient as Jace ambles into the room, pulling a t-shirt over his shower-damp hair.

Then he sees me and offers this little grin, and I'm stricken suddenly by how beautiful he is. His eyes are just so gold, his face so sharp and handsome. I almost forget how attractive he is when he is gone.

"Hey," he says. "There you are. I was wondering why—"

"I have a surprise for you," I blurt out, almost like a child.

I must calm down. I have to act my age. This is ridiculous, so unlike me. But I'm feeling so bubbly that I can't help it.

Jace's eyebrows arch, a half-smile lifting one side of his perfect mouth. "Oh, yeah? Does it involve taking your clothes off?"

"No," I say, shaking my head, not even taking offence. I'm too excited. "No, it doesn't."

"I'm not sure I want it, then—"

I thrust the box out at him before he can finish, and he looks so surprised at my enthusiasm that I laugh—a small, tiny laugh but still a laugh.

"Okay." Jace seems suspicious now, but he reaches out and takes the box from me carefully, jumping slightly when the box rattles from the inside. "You got me something that's going to maul me, didn't you? That's why you're so excited. You want to disfigure me."

"No! Open it! You'll love it," I say, leaning closer to watch as he painfully slowly opens the box.

And then he's staring down at the contents in shock, his suspicion melting away. His lips part, his eyes go wide as they look back up to mine, as if not believing what he sees. "What…"

"I know it's not yellow," I say. "But I think gray is good, too. It's a long hair and so soft. The pet store owner assured me this little fella was the sweetest little lover they had."

Jace is dropping the box, picking out the little kitten from inside and holding it carefully as it meows softly and butts against his hands, begging to be petted. "Wow…"

"Do you like it?"

Jace rubs the kitten's head and it arches into his touch and purrs loudly, almost drooling. Jace's eyes are still wide, almost distant, as if this is too surprising for him to process. "I don't…I don't know what to say."

"A thank you will suffice," I murmur, a little coyly. I'm satisfied with myself. "Maybe even a you-are-so-wonderful. That would be nice, as well."

At this, Jace looks up at me from underneath his lashes with a dark smirk before setting the kitten down gingerly, letting it bounce around the apartment and rub its little neck on every piece of furniture available—marking its scent.

Jace is staring at me in quiet, soft amazement, his expression both tender and surprised and something else. "Clary…I…"

"Happy birthday, Jace," I murmur because he's having a hard time finding words.

His face softens further, and I know now that he does like me. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he's looking at me in a little bit of awe. I like that. I like that he likes me, for some reason. I suppose I'm just vain. Or maybe it's something else.

It doesn't matter, though.

And I don't have time to think about it further because Jace is suddenly kissing me, hot and demanding, fierce.

I'm kissing him back, too, because it feels good. We aren't drugged, but still, this feeling—the heat, the frantic, wild feel to it, the passion—it's delicious and addictive. I enjoy it.

Jace's hands are grabbing me, pulling me to him, embracing me almost. His lips are rough against mine, yet sweet at the same time. Hungry. His tongue is in my mouth, twisting with mine, and I'm drowning in his scent, his taste.

"Jesus, Clary," Jace rasps against my lips, pulling away from me just slightly so that he can speak, but I'm following him with my mouth, unable to lose our connection. His lips don't leave me completely, though. They skim over my cheek, across my jaw, to my ear.

I feel his hands slip down over my shoulders, to my breasts, where he squeezes my flesh teasingly before going to hold my hips, pulling me against him tightly. He's nuzzling his face into my neck, his nose brushing over my pounding pulse, and then he's nibbling at my earlobe gently before murmuring with scorching breath, "I want to take you to bed, Clary."

I'm dizzy, unable to fully understand what he's saying, but my body seems to. My stomach is quivering, my muscles tensing, my breathing rough and ragged. I'm holding onto him with all of my might, knowing that if I don't, I will fall to the ground on my shaky legs.

One of Jace's hands come up and covers my neck. His touch is warm and strong, and it makes me sigh softly as he strokes the delicate skin of my jaw and whispers again into my ear, "Let me take you to bed."

I shut my eyes, clench them shut, in an effort to think—to decode what he's saying because my body is so lost amongst want and ache that I can't find my mind.

But none of that matters, however, when there's a sharp knock on the door.

Immediately, I'm jolted out of my lusty state, and I try to pull away from Jace, but he's not letting me go.

"Let them go away," he urges, holding me tighter against him.

But the spell's broken and I'm not ready for this yet. I say, "Jace, it might be important."

"I doubt it."

"Jace, let go," I warn, and then he does.

I go to the door, trying to calm myself as I walk, feeling Jace's eyes on me as I go, and I thank the Lord for whoever knocked on the door, because I'm not sure what would have happened in this heat Jace creates within me if they had not interrupted.


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Oh my gosh! I bet y'all thought that I had forsaken y'all! Or that I was dead! Well, I'm not! I'm just horribly busy! AH! Friday and Saturday, I hung out with some friends (I do sometimes have to have a social life and get off my computer), and today, I've spent most of the day sleeping even though I should have been at church but I've felt really sick today so I just couldn't make it. YIKES! Anyway, I'm feeling better now so I'm posting this chapter and chapter 34 tonight. I may/may not update tomorrow. We'll have to see. Anyway, I apologize for my horribleness. Thank y'all for dealing with me. I can't wait to read (349! WOW!) reviews after this. Y'all are amazing. This story has only been up two weeks! Did y'all realize that? Two weeks and I have 349 reviews. Um, wow. That's just further proof that y'all are the most amazing people ever! Thank you so much! I love every single one of y'all!**

**P.S. I'm tired and I still feel yuck so I will not be held resonpislbe for any tpyos adn/ro grammer mistakes,?**

**P.S.S. Did y'all see what I did there ^^^ Oh, gosh. I'm so clever. JUST KIDDING. I'm really not. I'm really lame. Please excuse me. I tend to think I have a sense of humor when I get tired.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three

Celine is the one who interrupted us. I nearly yank her inside the room because if she leaves without staying for a while, who knows what might happen? I'm not fully in control of myself, and I need time to catch my breath, to regain my sense of reason.

When we walk into the living room together, Jace is sitting on the floor, talking to the kitten as it weaves around him excitedly.

"OH!" Celine yells louder than I've ever heard her before. "A kitten!"

Immediately, she's on the floor beside Jace, playing with the little gray ball of fluff like a child.

I can't help but smile a little at the sight of them.

"Clarissa, come sit," Celine orders, patting the spot beside her on the rug without ever taking her eyes of the kitten, which now is frantically moving between

Jace and Celine, trying to get as much love as possible.

I ease down beside Celine, across from Jace, but he isn't looking at me, only focusing on the kitten. That's best, I think.

"Where did he come from?" Celine inquires excitedly as the kitten leaps into her lap and rubs his head against her hand desperately.

"Clary got him for me," Jace says, more subdued than I've ever heard him speak. His eyes flicker up to mine finally, and they hold my gaze unwaveringly. I'm immediately lost within their swirling, warm golden depths.

My stomach feels so strange, and I realize belatedly, that I'm feeling butterflies. It's completely ridiculous and beneath me and unimaginable, but the feeling is there and it cannot be faked—nor can it be forgotten, I would try to erase it. To pretend it never happened and wasn't happening still—worsening, in fact, the longer Jace stares at me.

But then he looks away, and I can breathe again as he elaborates to his mother, "She got him for me for my birthday."

"Oh, what a lovely thing to do, Clarissa. Jace has always loved animals, but Valentine would never adhere to it, you see." Celine smiles gently down at the kitten. "Have you named him yet?"

"No. I just got him," Jace says.

"Do you have any idea _what_ to name him, then?" Celine asks.

"You know I'm not creative about such things, Mother," Jace mutters, almost embarrassedly.

Celine laughs at this and looks up at me. "Oh, yes, Clarissa. Jace has never been much of a creative one, the poor darling. Isabelle once had a goldfish and asked Jace to name it. Do you know what he told her to call the little creature? Fish. Just Fish. Not even Goldie!" Celine giggles at this, a breathless little giggle that makes her lighter and more colorful, bringing out the brightness in her and making me see how loveable she can be.

I smile myself. "Yes, that's quite the name."

Jace glowers a little. "A fact my mother neglects to mention is that I was three when this occurred."

"Then why don't you name the cat now?" I challenge, with an arch of my brow.

Jace glances over at me, sees my expression, and a rueful little smile appears on his lips as he averts my gaze yet again. He looks very young. "I don't know…Fluffy?"

"Oh, that's a perfect name. I'm sure none of the other five year olds throughout the city could have out done you," I say.

"Why don't you name him, then, smart ass?"

"Jace!" Celine chides but she's too busy playing with the kitten to pay much attention to Jace.

"Hm." I tilt my head and pretend to debate. "How about…Abel?"

"That's a name from the Bible!" Celine exclaims, scooping up the kitten and holding him in the air. "It's decided. It's Abel."

"I guess it's Abel, then," Jace says.

So his name was Abel.

* * *

Celine leaves after an hour or so, but by then, I can almost look at Jace again without feeling so strange.

We go to dinner together as if nothing ever happened. He even teases me, gets on my nerves, goads me into a back-and-forth, quick argument, the ones we seem to do so well.

But all that it gone when we are back in the room, getting ready for bed.

I can feel it as soon as we cross the threshold back into the apartment, can feel the tension between us resume as if it never left. I suppose it never did. We just hid it.

"I'm going to change," I say shortly, without even glancing at Jace because I know that will be a mistake. I step over Abel, who is running for Jace, excited for his return, and then I'm locking myself in the bathroom, trying to breathe normally because there's no reason for this strange hitch in my chest.

I put on my nightgown, one of my more modest ones although this one only barely comes to my knees. Its straps are flimsy, so I put on a robe over it. And then I take off all my makeup just so that I don't look one bit seductive to him.

It takes me a few moments to work up my courage to face him in the bedroom. I don't know what he expects to happen, but I'm prepared to shoot down his advances for anything other than just a peaceful night's sleep.

When I creep back into the room, he's just wearing his pajama pants and is crouched by the bed, smiling softly at Abel, whom is purring wildly as Jace pets him.

I don't make a sound as I drift over to the bed, hoping that my presence will go unnoticed until I dive safely under the covers.

My plan succeeds.

Jace doesn't notice me.

So then I feel slightly miffed, but I tell myself that I'm being ridiculous, of course. My ego ceases to shut up until I'm pulling off my robe and throwing it to the floor, so that when Jace stands up, he'll see me in my white little silken nightgown with the tiny straps that I've let fall off my shoulders.

Jace finally does stop messing with the cat, but when he crawls into bed, he's still not looking at me—instead, he's looking at the book he's holding. Once he's under the covers, he begins reading, without ever once gracing me with so much as a glance.

I roll my eyes.

He's doing it on purpose, whether to piss me off or to ignore this tension between us, I'm not sure.

Either way, I intend to break this silence, so I say, "I read _Of Mice and Men_." This was deeper than I wanted to go because I know this will strike up a conversation, rather than a passing remark.

Jace doesn't disappoint.

He looks over at me, but his eyes don't drift from mine. I'm not sure whether to be insulted or pleased.

"Did you?" he inquires, a smirk tilting his lips.

I nod. "You left it…that night you stormed out."

My attempt at derailing him doesn't work, and he simply purses his lips. "Did you like it?"

"Yes," I answer simply, not delving into anything deeper besides a quick, "I thought it was sad."

Jace shrugs a little before looking back at his new book.

This irks me irrationally.

I ask, before I can stop myself, "What are you reading now?"

"_Their Eyes Were Watching God_."

"What is it about?" I ask because now I'm curious.

"It's kind of…a coming of age story, I suppose. About a girl becoming a woman, a woman that's searching for true love, someone to be herself with, to give herself to completely." Jace frowns slightly at the book. "It's interesting and very metaphorical in parts. It's kind of…sappy, I guess. But it was a classic, back in the Old Days."

"Is that why you're reading it, because it's a classic? I mean," I add ruefully, "it doesn't exactly seem like the type of book you'd read."

Jace grins a little at this and looks over at me. "I'm reading it because I've almost exhausted the library already. I don't have many other books to choose from anymore, so I'm getting desperate—although, I'm not ashamed to admit that I am enjoying this one."

I smile, just a bit. "So you like reading, hm?"

"Yeah." Jace seems to debate a moment. "I used to hate it—because my father made me read things—big tomes and so forth, things about weapons and herbs and blah, blah, blah. But my mother, she started giving me little books to read just for fun. And then Uncle Samuel showed me the library, and I was no more good. I started reading everything I could."

"You don't strike me as the type," I tell him honestly.

Jace shrugs again. "I guess I'm not. It's just…well, my mother told you tonight that I wasn't very creative—never have been. But I've always wanted to be. Because it's not something I ever can be. I _can _fight because I made myself good at it. I'm the best in every one of my classes, of my age group. That's something I can control and succeed at. I _can _handle weapons because I practice with them. I _can_ play the piano because I made myself. But I can never be _great_ at the piano because I don't have the creativity. I can't ever _write_ the music for it. I can't ever write one of these books. But I always thought that must be so nice, you know, to create all these worlds and people on your own. It must be…freeing, in a way—just like any kind of art form."

I let his words sink in my head and fill my thoughts, and I find myself saying, "Fighting must be freeing."

"It's only freeing temporarily. Fighting something…" Jace pauses, narrows his eyes, tries to find the right words. "Fighting something is a great release. It's like sex."

I flush crimson, but Jace isn't paying attention to me, nor is he trying to be suggestive. He's still staring at something in the distance, trying to word this properly.

"It feels good and satisfies you but only for a short period of time. Once I best whatever I'm fighting, once I kill it, the satisfaction is gone and there is nothing left to show for it. It's the same for sex. Once it's over, there's nothing left. So I've always thought that at least with some sort of art, you have a product to show in the end. You have something left over…a book, a painting, a piece of music…or maybe you just have that feeling left—that feeling you felt when you were totally immersed in building your work. There's no real feeling in fighting—just physical gratification." Jace blinks, seems to realize himself, and then he glances over to me, where I am shamelessly hanging on his words, trying to digest them because they are interesting and I, unfortunately, like what he is saying.

He ducks his head a little and mutters, "I guess that's what I'm trying to say, anyway. I'm rambling."

"No," I murmur, surprising myself. "No, you're not. I…I used to paint."

At this, Jace's head snaps over, his eyes meeting mine, his brows arched. "Really?"

I blush at his curiosity. "Yes. I used to paint all the time, or draw—whatever I could. But as I got older, I just…stopped. I stopped having inspiration for it, and my mother could hardly afford to buy me the supplies I needed without having to pawn her jewels—which are important for Dates to have. Dates get company by looking nice and what they wear. I knew it was costing her business to have to sell all her jewels off, and she would anyway…she'd have sold them all for me. So I told her I didn't like to anymore and she stopped buying me the things because I stopped using them. And after a while, I didn't even doodle anymore."

My eyes peep shyly over at Jace, to find him watching me with the same sort of hungry intensity that I had been watching him with.

I realize that I've let him see too much, and I hasten to fix this. "It's rather stupid, though. I didn't feel anything then, anyway. So I don't believe in your theory." At this, I scoot down in the bed and turn my back to him and pull my covers up. "It's late. I'm going to sleep."

After a brief moment, I hear Jace exhale this surprised little chuckle. I can almost see him shake his head.

"Good talk."

I ignore this and simply shut my eyes.

But after a few minutes have passed, Jace leans towards me and kisses my temple. He says, "Goodnight, Clary."

I just pretend to be asleep.

* * *

**Anyone ever read _Their Eyes Were Watching God_? I had to read it when I was in high school. Thoughts on it? Anyone? Thoughts on this chapter, too, would greatly be appreciated, but at this point, I don't even have to ask. THAT'S just how awesome y'all are.**


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: OKAY! WHEW! I just responded to 3 whole pages of reviews which was ABSOLUTELY AMAZING! And slightly overwhelming for me but it's my own fault for not checking in more. WOW! You guys are the best. EVER. Y'all have no idea how touched I am to have those reviews. So many people are saying such fabulous things that it really just makes me want to cry! I'm a sap, I know. But y'all are just too dang sweet. I just don't know what to do.**

**Shout out, by the way, to the person that said my updates were like cake to them. Like a piece of cake everyday or something along those lines. That made me laugh out loud, and I was sad that I could not review to you directly. So hopefully, you're reading this now.**

**Shout out to the rest of y'all that are just totally amazing for reading my story! I'm so flattered. Y'all don't even realize how much your support means to me. I wish I could tell y'all.**

**That being said, some of you might not like me for this upcoming chapter. I'm sure a lot of you will, but some of you won't. And I hope I don't let those people down. If I do, I AM SO SORRY! But I feel as though it is time. This next chapter is a nessceary part of the story and without any further ado, I shall let y'all read in peace!**

**Enjoy (wink, wink)**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four

We're in the shower.

The steam is billowing around us like smoke, thick and heavy.

I stand under the stream of hot, pelting water, letting the powerful jets ease away the tension in my back and shoulders, but it can do nothing to ease the tension I feel in my stomach, at Jace's nearness.

I try to tune him out, but his scent is stronger in here, in this confined, steamy place and it's impossible to ignore the current between our bodies that is intensified now.

I feel his hands fall on my hips, and I know.

Everything in my body lights up.

He spins me to face him, and I'm looking up into his golden, beautiful eyes, into his chiseled face, where the water runs in rivulets, making every angle sharper. He smiles slightly and leans down, kisses me. Once. Twice. Three times. And I'm already on fire.

Then he's dropping to his knees, dragging his hot lips down my chest and stomach as he goes, slow and torturous—and something else, too. Worshiping. As if he's in awe of me, which only makes my legs shake harder.

He notices this and reaches up, grabbing my knees, making sure they don't buckle, and then he's looking up at me, resting his chin on my quavering tummy, giving me this half dangerous, half sweet look before he kisses my belly button. He watches with lusty eyes as I sigh.

My hands come up, dig into the warm, wet gold of his hair, and then I'm pushing his head down lower…right where I need him to—

* * *

I wake with a start, gasping and breathing hard.

Panting, almost.

The area between my legs feels swollen and slick, pulsing slightly still from my dream.

I look over at Jace, who is still awake, reading. He's on his back with the book held above his head, but he's looking over at me, his messy hair hanging into his golden, sleepy eyes.

We don't say anything.

For a long time, I just look at him. My breathing never calms. It just gets worse, the longer our eyes remained locked.

The butterflies return to my tense stomach, making me nearly delirious with all this new sensation. My heart is pounding a frantic beat in my chest, wild and uncontrollable. My body is reacting to him, to his nearness—without him even touching me. Just his eyes alone are enough because his gaze is like a physical touch.

He knows.

He must because his golden irises are turning dark, a shadow of lust passing over his face as his eyes drop from mine, down to my lips, down even further to my heaving chest, where I know he can see my nipples straining against the flimsy fabric of my gown.

And then I'm on top of him. I don't even recall rolling over to him.

I hear his book hit the floor with a dull thud, and I'm not sure if I've knocked it from his grasp or he's tossed it aside.

It doesn't matter.

He's staring up at me, running his hot, rough-feeling hands over my sides, and I suddenly want nothing more than for this gown to be gone, for his hands to be on my bare skin. For everything we are wearing to be gone, so that we can touch everywhere.

But he opens his mouth, as if to speak, but I quickly put my index finger over his warm lips, stopping him. Because if he speaks, this might stop—this feeling, this desire, this spell we're both in.

I lean down and kiss him, a soft and hesitant kiss despite the powerful urges inside me. Urges to kiss him with all my might, to grind myself down on him where I know he must be hard, to feel him against me.

He kisses me back, just as gentle and soft, and then we are exchanging these quick little maddening pecks, our lips ghosting over each other's teasingly, building everything until Jace leans up and seals are lips together hotly.

And then all gentleness is gone.

His mouth is hot against mine, forcing my lips to part, and then his tongue is thrusting into my mouth, demanding against my own.

My hands brace myself on either side of his head as his drag over my sides, down to my legs, and then back up so that his calloused palms are smoothing over the skin of my backside.

I groan against his mouth, loudly, horribly lusty.

Jace's hands push down on my rear and his hips lift up, and I suddenly feel his excitement pressing into me where I'm throbbing for him. I roll myself against him, naturally, an instinctual movement, and we both moan at the delicious feeling.

His hands move, slipping out from underneath my gown and then moving achingly slow up my stomach, up even further. He brushes his fingers along the sides of my breasts teasingly, letting his thumbs lightly ghost over my nipples occasionally, making me groan in dissatisfaction.

He's touching me in all the right places but never long enough. His hands are ghosting over my most erogenous areas, working me up, making me crazy.

My body feels more on fire than it has ever felt before. I feel wild and untamed, animal-like almost in the way I press myself against him, crying out his name softly. I'm insatiable, completely frantic. I don't know what he's doing to me, but I don't want him to ever stop.

One of Jace's hands is suddenly between my legs, brushing gently over my dampened panties, and even such a light touch has me moaning and pushing down against his fingers, wordlessly begging for relief.

Then I feel Jace's mouth close down around my nipple, over the silken fabric of my nightgown, and his hand is moving back and forth, stroking me over my panties, and I'm groaning and holding his head to me, curled over him, pressing my face into his hair, inhaling his delicious scent as he does these dirty things to me.

He groans something unintelligible but vaguely profane, and then he's sitting up, sitting me up with him so that my legs straddle him, and he's kissing me again, demandingly and so forcefully that I'm moaning into his mouth, running my hands hungrily over his bare chest.

The way we're sitting, I'm resting directly atop his hardness and I'm pressing down on it, circling my hips against it, doing everything to increase the friction between us, and it's all coming naturally, without me even thinking about it.

Jace's hands are sudden scrapping up my legs, to my hips, and then grasping my thin nightgown, pulling it up over my body and exposing myself to him. Immediately, his lips are back on my breasts, kissing and licking and suckling. My hands are gripping his hair, holding him to me, my hips jerking up and down so that I bounce lightly against his length, dying for more.

And he gives it to me.

I'm suddenly being rolled onto my back, and he's on his knees between my shamelessly splayed open legs. His eyes are dark and his lips are swollen, his hair standing up at strange angles from where I've pulled it, and he looks as wild as I feel and it's almost sinful just to look at him.

Jace's warm hands smooth over the insides of my legs, pushing them apart even further, and then he bites his lip and glances up from me almost shyly from underneath his lashes and that look has me more turned on than anything he's done all night.

"Do you want this, Clary?" he asks softly, watching as I squirm. "Do you want to do this?"

I nod frantically. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" he asks slowly, leaning down, pressing his lips against my quaking stomach and dragging them up hotly. "You need to tell me now if you don't want to. I'm not going to be able to stop after this point."

"I'm sure," I whisper breathlessly, my eyes clenching shut as my hands find purchase in his hair once again. "Jace…"

"You're positive?" he murmurs against my skin, teasingly. His lips are now between my breasts, and I feel his fingers slowly easing down my panties at the same time, removing them carefully from my trembling legs.

"Yes, Jace, I'm positive," I manage to say, a little exasperated as I feel my body ache for him, knowing he's so close.

"This isn't something you can take back, you know," he says his lips now moving up my neck.

I wrap my arms around his tense shoulders, and my fingers dig into the hard muscle of his back. I'm clutching at him desperately, trying to get him closer. "I know, Jace..."

Then I feel him, hard and smooth, probing gently at my entrance, but not going any further, not moving and pushing into me like I feel he must. I don't even take time to wonder when he took his pants off. It doesn't matter at this point.

"So you're sure?" he asks, but his voice has lost its teasing tone and become more strained.

"Yes, Jace!" I nearly shout, arching my hips up into him desperately, trying to push him in but he retreats, keeping me from my relief. "I'm sure!"

"Good. Because I am so tired of fucking waiting for you, Clary," he whispers into my ear before he's thrusting into me.

It's painful at first. He's so much bigger than me, and I'm so tense that it takes a few times before he's filled me up completely. And then he's still for a moment, letting me adjust to the new, strange pain inside me at having him break through my virginity.

He's shaking slightly at the effort to stay still, and eventually, when the pain lessens just a bit, I tell him he can move because I can't wait to see what this is like.

He pulls in and out of me, rhythmically, and soon, the motion gets easier because I'm getting more relaxed beneath him, more aroused again at the dirty things he's whispering in my ear as he moves.

Soon, the pain goes away entirely, and I can just focus on him, on how hard he is, on how heavenly and new and wonderful it feels to have him filling me up so completely, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together.

The bed starts groaning under us, the headboard banging into the wall with each one of Jace's increasingly quick and powerful thrusts.

Our bodies become slick with the sweat of our efforts, and he glides against me more smoothly, helping his tempo increase even furthermore.

I feel his hands gripping my knees, pulling them up higher against his sides, and then he's going deeper than before, making me cry out his name over and over, which makes him go even harder against me until I feel myself building up again, feel myself ready to snap, but I can't quite reach that pinnacle yet and I'm begging Jace now.

Then, I feel his hand slip between us, feel him touch me in a place that I didn't know existed, and as if he's hit a button, I'm clamping down around him, the waves of my pleasure going to staggering heights as he keeps pulling and pushing out of me.

And then he's burying his face into my neck, groaning loudly as I feel jet after hot jet of his release inside me, thick and powerful.

He collapses on top of me, and it's hard to breathe with his weight, but I don't care.

I just barely manage to open my eyes, and I look over Jace's shoulder, down to where my knee is pressed into his side, where my legs are bent open for him, where he's between them, buried inside me still.

The thought sends an unexpected jolt of heat through my stomach, and I feel myself clenching around him again, like small little aftershocks of such a powerful sensation.

Jace groans softly into the pillow, and then I feel him press his hips forward just a little.

My legs wrap around his waist instinctually, my ankles locking behind him, and I draw my hands up around him again, smoothing them over his sweaty neck, his hard muscle.

I kiss shoulder gently and then again and then I carefully lick at his skin, tasting the salty sweat there.

Jace's hips move again, more deliberately this time, and I feel him inside me swelling, becoming wonderfully hard again.

"Jace," I whisper, arching myself up against him lustily, holding him deep within me before dropping back down to the bed, stroking him as I go.

Then he's shifting, pulling himself almost all the way out before slamming harshly back home, making me cry out in shock and pleasure at the sudden movement.

His forehead falls against mine, his hot, hungry, predatory eyes becoming my whole world as he pounds into me, much more roughly than before.

I quickly find that I love this, this fierceness in which he's taking me now. I like how he seems to know I'm strong enough to take it, that I'm not fragile, that I can handle him and his feverish movements.

Soon, my eyes fall shut, but Jace's lips brush over mine as he says, "Open your eyes, Clary. I want to see your eyes."

I'm so close again. I can feel my body beginning to shake and jerk softly, readying to implode, but Jace has slowed himself down now, a deliberate attempt to make me meet his gaze. "Jace…"

"Open your eyes," he orders. "Open them or I'm going to stop."

I force my lids to flutter open and meet his burning hot, searching gaze, and immediately, he starts slamming into me again, making my nails scrape down his back in a way I know must be painful but he just seems to relish it. And I'm wanting to close my eyes again because my head is getting so heavy, filled to the brim with impending release, but Jace says, "Keep them open," so I have to.

The headboard of the bed is slamming into the wall so viciously now that I feel flakes of drywall drifting down into my hair, onto my forehead, but neither of us notice or care about the destruction we're causing. We're only after one thing.

Jace's face screws up suddenly, his own eyes closing as he breathes hotly and almost frantically over my lips, "Oh, fuck, Clary, don't stop…don't stop that—with your nails."

I realize he means the scratching down his back, a little belatedly, so I do it again and again, digging my nails a little deeper each time, and then he presses his face into the pillow to muffle his groan, and I feel him explode within me again, filling me up so completely that I feel a little overflow and run hotly down my legs.

His climax triggers mine, and then we are working in perfect harmony, me clenching around him, milking every last drop from him as the heat of his release inside me makes groan softly into his hair.

Then we are finally finished, and Jace is lying tiredly atop me, with my now-achy legs falling apart from his waist.

With a trembling hand, I reach up and touch the nape of his wet-soaked neck with a gentleness that I thought was beyond me. He hums something into the pillow, and I don't understand him but I just keep stroking his neck until we both pass out from sheer exhaustion.

* * *

**Okay, so a few of y'all were like, I don't want them to have sex yet. But this had to happen. It didn't happen because MOST of y'all dogs (said in a most loving way, of course, because you know y'all crack me up) were saying LET THEM HAVE SEX, either. It happened because it needed to for the story to progress. This scene didn't happen for no reason. It's important for things to go on. For an important part of my story to develop. I don't want y'all to feel like I'm a sell-out. I had this scene written a week ago. I knew where I wanted it to be placed, too. It was time. I hate it if I disappointed anyone, but trust me. It's not like Jace and Clary's sexual tension will be resolved or like they're gonna be all rainbows and butterflies now. Clary isn't going to be less feisty now. She's not gonna be happy-go-lucky. Jace isn't going to be feeding her chocolates or showing up with flowers or playing her music on a boombox. They will still argue. They will still have tension. Clary still has a master plan. As do I. Muahahahahah. Good night, y'all! I LOVE Y'ALL TO PIECES! **


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note: Hello, y'all! So, I saw that I have 375 reviews today (can you say holy crap), but I would like to get a lot of feedback on last chapter. Haven't checked my reviews yet, so I'm sure quite a few of you have sounded off and told me how y'all feel about and I'm super anxious to read them. But I'd also like everyone to chime in on last chapter, please. Well, I know EVERYONE is a little unrealistic, but I'd like to hear from people that normally don't review or review every once in a while, too, as well as my amazingly awesome people that review all the time. I want to know how I did writing wise because, no, I'm still not really comfortable with writing lemons. They aren't anything I've ever written before, and if the last lemon was lame, I want to know so I can fix it. Also, I'd just like to know how y'all feel about Clary and Jace finally having sex. Hate it, love it, iffy about it? Please let me know and why! Thank you(:**

**And without anymore rambling from me, I present to you, The Morning After...**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five

I know immediately that something is off.

I'm sore.

Everywhere, even in places I've never been achy before.

And then I open my eyes, wincing at the bright light pouring in from the windows, and when I turn my head and see Jace lying on his back beside me, I remember everything. One look at him and his completely messy hair and obviously nude body that's barely hidden under the tangled sheets and I know.

I look down at myself and confirm my suspicions.

In delayed, child-like embarrassment, I yank the sheet up around me, but we've gotten the sheets so tangled that my movement pulls at the covers around Jace's waist and almost exposes him—and definitely wakes him up.

Just as he begins to start stretching, I lay back down quickly, rolling onto my side, facing away from him, and shutting my eyes tightly.

This can't be real.

Last night had to be a dream.

A wonderful, deliciously detailed dream.

_Stop it, Clary._

I feel Jace moving beside me, and my heart begins to pound as I focus on keeping my face smooth and calm. I have to pretend to be asleep. I can't face him yet.

But then I feel his hand smoothing down my bare arm slowly, drawing goosebumps over my skin, and then he's leaning in and kissing my neck softly, to wake me up, and it most definitely wakes me up.

"Clary?" he asks quietly. Timidly, I realize belatedly, and this shocks me into turning my head to look at him.

He's stunningly beautiful, all golden tones in the early morning light. He seems to glow, his eyes shimmering as the sunlight reflects off them. With his messy hair—that I made messy—and the tired, sleepless circles under his eyes—that I was a producer of—he's truly gorgeous.

And then he smiles, and he's just too pretty to look at so I look away. "Good morning," he says.

I sit up suddenly because this can't be happening. I hide my face with my hands and try to breathe.

What had I been thinking last night?  
I hadn't been.

I'd had my first dirty dream, and when I woke up, I acted my fantasies out like…like a whore. He probably thinks I'm a whore, now. He probably thinks that I'm _his_. His to have whenever he wants. He probably thinks he's won, that he's gotten the best of me, and what makes me sick is he has.

"Clary?" Jace inquires gently. I feel him sit up beside me, feel his hand run over my bare spine.

I pull away from him in disgust.

"Don't do that," he says. He puts his lips at my shoulder, so that I can feel them brushing my skin as he pleads, "Don't shut me out like that again."

I shove him away, roughly, pushing him back down on the bed with a hand on his chest, and I glare. "Don't talk to me like I've ever even let you in!"

He stares up at me in shock for a second before hurt flashes and then anger takes its place. "Well, what do you call last night, then? Because that seems like the damn height of _letting me in_."

I feel sick.

Jace knows this because then he sighs and looks regretful and sits up again, careful not to touch me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I don't want us to be like that again."

"There is no us, Jace! What the hell is wrong with you?" I demand. "You think just because I let you between my legs that there's an us? I was being stupid! In a moment of weakness, I let you do that! Because I was turned on! Nothing more! Get that through your head now."

"Jesus, Clary! You act like I'm about to profess my fucking love to you! I'm not, okay, so just calm down! I didn't mean it like that! I just meant that…that…hell, I don't know what I meant, okay? I do know that I didn't mean we're gonna bake cookies together and start wearing matching fucking sweaters now!"

The image pops into my head, suddenly and unwarranted, and the thought of Jace and I wearing matching sweaters with little hearts on them is so ludicrous that I find myself actually laughing a little. I'm horrified at myself for letting this anger inside me slip, but it's unavoidable at this point.

And it's all that's needed to break the furious tension in the room.

Jace doesn't laugh with me. He just rests his forehead on my shoulder for a moment before saying, quietly, "I just thought we could be friends now. Despite what happened last night." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "I mean, what happened last night is part of this—of being married and filling this role we have to fill. And it's physical because I know we both wanted it. And it gave us what we needed. But I'm talking about us just being able to converse. I haven't had anyone to talk to in a very long time, Clary, and I… I _enjoy_ talking to you. Even if you are a heinous bitch sometimes."  
I huff at the last part but don't respond. I can't.

But Jace seems to take my silence of as answer, which I suppose in a way it is, and then he's kissing my shoulder once, gently, before murmuring carefully, "Are you…are you sore?"

I blush a little but nod, unable to look at him.

"Okay. Um…" Jace leans away, scratching the back of his head and says slowly, as if he's figuring it out as he goes, "Maybe a hot bath would be good for you…for your, you know, uh, soreness."

That does sound good, so I nod a little and then say, "I'll go take one."

"Wait, no. I'll…I'll get it ready for you," he says.

"You don't know how I like my baths," I protest, just to be a little petulant. "I like them with the rose salts in them and with scalding hot water so you have to turn the knob all the way to the left—"

"Damn, Clary, running a bath isn't rocket science," he grumbles as he gets out of bed. I make sure not to look at him until he's got his pajama bottoms on again and is walking towards the bathroom.

"Scalding hot water, Jace. I don't want luke warm. If it's luke warm, I'll—"

"You'll what?" he asks like a smart ass, arching his brows at me as he opens the bathroom door. At my glare, he smirks a little and disappears inside the bathroom before I can tell him what I'll do.

And then I'm left to my own, horrible thoughts as I hear him messing around behind the half shut door.

I hang my head.

I feel my control over this situation slipping. Last night was a prime example of this. Maybe I'm too young for this mission. Too easily swayed by hormones. Because there was no ulterior motive behind my actions last night except that I wanted to know what it felt like and I wanted Jace to be the one to show me.

But it wasn't just Jace in particular. No, it couldn't have been. It was just that he was there. Convenient. And handsome and my husband and most definitely willing, so it simply worked out that way.

Perhaps, though, my own slip up is an advantage to me. Jace won't suspect me giving into him as a plan on my part because it was so spontaneous. He won't think I was trying to do something because I _wasn't_ trying to do anything.

This will be my saving grace—his lack of suspicion. Our first time has come about naturally, not forced on either side's part. So he will believe it to mean something.

I nod to myself, but still my lingering doubts remain.

If I gave into him so easily, am I really the best person for this job? I've never doubted myself so much, but the stakes have never been higher before, either.

I can't back out now, anyway. Jace would never trust another Date from my mother if I just left.

Besides, I'm _in_ now. I've got Jace running my bath for me. I highly doubt another girl could get that to happen any time soon.

Jace reappears suddenly, trying to run a hand through the top of his messy curls, and then he jerks his chin up at me. "Bath's ready."

I nod once, twice, and then wait for him to leave. But he doesn't. He's just standing there, looking at me.

I clear my throat. "Okay, thank you," I say stiffly and quickly.

But still, Jace doesn't take my hint and doesn't move. He arches a brow at me, and I arch both of mine back at him.

"What?" I demand sharply. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. Just for you to get up. Why do just keep sitting there? Your precious scalding hot water's becoming, God forbid, luke warm."

"I'm…I can't get up with you standing there!" I blurt.

A languid smile stretches over Jace's face as disbelief flashes in his eyes. "Clary, I hate to burst your bubble, but last night, I _did_ see you naked."

I flush crimson but try to glare to hide my humiliation. "It's different now. So just turn around and walk out of this room, or I'm not getting up. And my bath water will turn cold, and I'll make you redo it."

Jace rolls his eyes but holds his hands up in mock surrender before sauntering out of the room.

* * *

"You've started a sexual relationship, then?" Mother inquires.

I nod, trying not to blush because this isn't the time for showing how childish I really am. "Yes, Mother."

"Last night was the first time?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Then, the pill I gave you that first night of your marriage was still good. You have to take one every six weeks. I'll make sure have them on time." Mother pushes her fork around her plate, her face stoic but I know there is more to her emotions than just nothingness. "Was he…he was gentle with you, wasn't he?"

A flash of the night previous shoots through my mind, Jace on top of me, pushing into me so roughly but deliciously. That was the second time, however. The first time… "Yes," I tell her honestly. "He was gentle."

Mother nods a bit in relief. I see her hand shake as she reaches to grab her water glass, and it's the first time I've seen her look so vulnerable. "I'm…I'm glad he didn't hurt you. I didn't think he'd be unnecessarily rough, but it's impossible to know for sure."

I clear my throat once. "Well, he wasn't. He was…it was…not horrible."

At this, Mother smiles just slightly, but it's an almost pained smile. "So he's good, then?"

"Mother!" I exclaim before I remember we are in a crowded restaurant and I quiet myself.

Mother sighs a little sadly. "I didn't want this for you, Clary. You know I didn't. You deserve so much more than this life. But I am at least grateful that Jace will treat you well in bed, so that you may have some enjoyment from it. If he was vicious, it would be much worse."

I try to think if that were the case, if not only had I had to marry Jace but I had to sleep with him when he was some kind of sadist…

It could be much worse, indeed.

* * *

**So a lot of people hate Jocelyn. And yes, I know she is horrible. She's pimping her daughter out, and that's pretty unforgivable. But I don't hate her because I get her story. I hope that as the story progresses, you'll see there are some redeeming qualities to her. Does that make what she's making Clary do right? No, way. Nothing could make that right. But in her mind, she doesn't see a choice. Jocelyn is a horribly, horribly flawed character that doesn't treat her daughter well, that's controlling, and that's just down right immoral. But I really hope, y'all will see WHY she's this way and not just be disgusted by her by the end of the story (which is still pretty far off, by the way).**


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Sorry I never updated again last night. It was just one of those uninspired days. Anyway, I'll make it up to y'all by posting three times today. This is the first update of the day! YAY!  
I wanted to answer a request someone had for me in the reviews yesterday. Someone asked if I could do a Jace POV. The answer is yes. Probably. Maybe. But sometime in the future-maybe even when the story is over. I don't want to do one right away because it might give away too much to y'all as readers. I will go ahead and write a few Jace POVs, however, because I just love writing different points of view and I also love getting inside other character's heads like that. It helps me as a writer. So thank you for the suggestion!  
I will most definitely be writing a Jocelyn POV at the end of the story, as well, to give a little insight onto some background things, things Clary doesn't know about/won't know about. But all this stuff will most likely come after the "END" of Clary's story.**

**Also. 400 reviews? Really. Y'ALL ARE AMAZING. I hope you realize how amazing y'all are...because y'all are.**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Clary!"

I turn my head carefully to peep over my shoulder as I sashay through the front lobby of the Wonderer.

It's Jace, and he's walking over to me slowly, wearily, a frown marring his perfect face. "There you are. Where have you been?"

I can't quite look at him. Not after last night, so I look down my white gloves as I pull them off daintily and walk towards the elevator. "I had lunch with my mother."

"Oh, I see." Jace's voice is subdued. He must know that I had lunch with her to discuss last night.

"You weren't there when I got out of the bath," I say calmly, hitting the elevator button and waiting for it to come down to us. "Or I would have told you then."

"I forgot I had weapons training this morning," Jace murmurs. "I didn't have time to write you a note."

"You don't have to apprise me of your whereabouts, Jace," I reply coolly.

Jace stiffens in my periphery, and I can feel the anger radiating off of him, but I don't realize it's extent until the elevator comes before us and Jace snaps at the attendant, "We'll catch another one," before grabbing my arm and hauling me towards the stairwell.

When the stairwell door closes behind us and we are alone, Jace glares down at me hotly and demands, "What the hell is wrong with you now?"

"What's wrong with me?" I echo back deadly. "Nothing, Jace. I don't know why you'd feel that way."

His hand slams against the wall near my head furiously. "Dammit, Clary. One minute you're finally thawing out, and the next you're as cold as ice. Could you give me some kind of warning before you decide to flip your switch?"

I blink at him. "You don't give me the same courtesy, so why should I?"

"Why are you like this?" Jace asks, his face very close to mine all of a sudden, his eyes boring into my own with too much intensity. "Why are you doing this? Do you get some sort of sick satisfaction from driving me up the fucking wall?"

I roll my eyes. "Not everything I do is for you, Jace."

"I knew you'd be like this. I knew it, and that's why I asked you ten times last night if you were okay with this. I should of known you wouldn't be, however, seeing as how you change your mind every two seconds."

I feel my anger rising, bubbling up within me, and I'm unable to stop it. "I'm not incapable of making up my own mind, Jace."

"Well," he says, seething, "it sure as hell seems like it."

We glare at each other for a long time, both of equally enraged and aroused. I can feel that heat between us, that pulsing electricity, and it's powerful, becoming stronger the longer we glower, the harder are breath becomes.

Then Jace is kissing me like I know he will, and I'm getting lost in feeling, like I wish I wouldn't. But it's useless, especially now, when my body knows what pleasure he can bring. I can't breathe or think, and he takes advantage of his, pushing me up against the wall, his lips attacking mine.

We're wild and feral, almost, the way we're clawing at each other. This is what my body is craving. It wants him, wants him so strongly that it over powers my mind, and Jace must know this because he's lifting me, sliding me up the wall a bit, pressing himself against me, right where I want him and need him the most, and I'm feeling how hard he is right there against me, and I want the clothes between us to be gone so he's inside me... And I feel his hands moving my legs, slipping under my skirt, grabbing at the sides of my panties, starting to pull them down—

"Jace, no, stop," I plead, pushing at his shoulders, my voice breathless and lusty. "Stop, put me down."

He surprises me by obeying my request, even if he does groan in dissatisfaction, but he's still kissing me, brushing his lips over my cheeks and my temple and my jaw—

I push him away slightly and shake my head violently. "No, Jace. We aren't doing this. Not again."

At this, Jace's brows arch in surprise over his desire-filled eyes that are impossible for me to look directly at. "Not again? As in, never?"

"As in, for an indefinite amount of time," I correct, smoothing down my skirt where Jace had hiked it up in his quest to remove my panties.

He lets out this disbelieving exhale of laughter and shakes his head. "I don't understand you one bit, Clary."

"Good," I snap.

Jace looks slightly disgusted. "Well, I'm sorry I ever touched you—against my better judgment—because I knew you'd pull this bullshit." He runs his hands through his hair angrily, making it stick up in strange places. "I just hoped you wouldn't."

"Sorry to disappoint," I say acidly before ducking past him, back out into the lobby, letting the door to the stairwell fall shut between us.

* * *

Dinner is a stiff affair.

Jace and I manage to avoid each other all day after the argument in the stairwell but when Isabelle asks if I can accompany her to dinner—and then when she asks Jace to come along, as well—our collision is unavoidable.

The three of us sit, death-quiet, in the dinning room. The soft music and conversation drifts around us, but we remain untouched and still.

Isabelle fidgets a few times, obviously picking up on the tension, but she's unable to pick up where it's coming from. I can tell this by the way she keeps looking between Jace and I and the big gap between us where the table sits.

"How was everyone's day?" she finally asks brightly.

"Fucking fantastic," Jace drawls.

Izzy blinks and then clears her throat. "Okay. Noting the sarcasm there. Should I not even bother to ask why?"

Jace just gives her a look that's her answer as he takes a sip of water.

She nods. "Okay. Clary, then—how was your day?"

"It was lovely, thank you," I murmur quietly, pushing around a crouton on my salad.

Izzy falls silent for a minute before blowing out a big sigh and sprawling out into her chair like Jace. She's kept her posture like mine for the past thirty minutes but it seems to have finally proven to be too much. "Okay, what's going on? Why are you in such a pissy mood, Jace? What did you do to Clary?"

"Why do you assume it's me?" Jace demands. "It's _her_. She can't make up her damn mind on anything."

"Don't pretend that you're a saint," I snap despite myself, glaring up at him.

"Well, if I remember correctly, I'm not the one who started any of this."

I snort in disbelief. "Do you honestly believe yourself or are you just accepting of your habitual lying?"

"I didn't start anything last night, and you know it," Jace mutters, glaring down at his plate.

I do know it. It was me that kissed him. That rolled on top of him. That told him yes.

I feel my flush rising up my neck, staining my cheeks dark rose as I slide down into my seat and cross my arms.

I have no good come back for him because he's right.

And I know I'm being unfair.

I just do not enjoy how easily my control seems to slip around him.

"Clary, can I talk to you for a second?" Izzy inquires quickly, already standing up and grabbing at my arm, hauling me up, as well, and dragging me through the dinning room.

She doesn't slow until we are in the ladies' room, and she's checked under all the stalls to make sure no one else is around.

Then she turns to me, cocks her hip, arches her brow. "You two had sex."

"Isabelle!" I huff, marching over to the mirrors to check my makeup.

"You did! I know it! I _knew_ it would be a big stink the morning after. Both of you are so hardheaded," she announces, flouncing over to stand beside me as I touch up my lipstick.

I give her a glare in the mirror's reflection. "I don't want to talk about it."

"So you didn't even enjoy it?" Isabelle sounds disbelieving.

And I make the mistake of not answering.

She laughs. "Oh! You _did_ enjoy it, and that's why you're so upset, I bet." She nods, pleased with herself. "Yeah, you seem like the type that's afraid to give in to anything good. And you were probably raised with the belief that sex is just for the men—just good for them and just good for controlling them. Not so, huh?"

I blink rapidly as I smooth my finger along the lines of my mouth, making sure to wipe away any stray lipstick.

"Well, why are you so worried about it, Clary? Just have fun with Jace. I mean, it's not like you guys aren't stuck with each other. Might as well enjoy good sex."

"Isabelle, you are as crude as ever," I murmur, rolling my eyes.

"I'm just trying to help you out, Clary. Don't deny yourself everything in life. That's no fun. Besides, you're _married_ to Jace. And he's good in the sack—so you've got it made. Don't worry so much."

"How you can talk about this when Jace is your cousin is beyond me," I mutter.

"Well, I'm talking about it with _you_—not Jace. And you're my friend. It's the same advice I'd give any of my friends—if I had any." Isabelle swishes her lips back and forth, smoothes her hand down her still-flat stomach. "I'm just trying to be helpful—like you are to me."

This softens me, and I sigh quietly, finally looking over to make eye contact. I offer just the smallest smile and say, "Thank you, Isabelle."

She shrugs. "Sure. But you're not going to listen to me. You're too hardheaded."

I laugh once, and the sound is almost foreign to me. I press my hand to my forehead and say, "I suppose I am rather stubborn. I just…I don't like feeling out of control." I'm surprised I've said so much, but I've held onto so many things for so long that sometimes it feels as though I'm going to burst.

Isabelle just smiles slightly, devilish. "And Jace makes you feel out of control." She purses her lips. "Well, I say run with that. Maybe you need some loosening up."

I roll my eyes at her and laugh yet again, but I do think over her words more than I care to admit.

* * *

**Hm. What do y'all think?**


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note: One more update after this and I think y'all will like it! (: At least, I hope y'all will. Anyway, someone asked me for more info on the Millhouse-and I'm so glad they did. I have so much going on in my head that I almost forgot y'all didn't know all about that yet. So here's mostly an info chapter. I know y'all need some answers! BY THE WAY. Y'ALL ARE AMAZING. Those reviews y'all... beautiful. Just brings a tear to my eye! Keep them coming please! They really do help me write faster because when I'm not inspired, I come on here and read the reviews and see how y'all seem to be enjoying this story and it never fails to help me get writing! (:**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jace isn't at the table when Isabelle and I return.

He doesn't come to the apartment that night, either.

For the next two days, in fact, I don't see him at all.

It isn't until the third day that I run into him while he's coming out of the shower. He obviously doesn't expect me because he's come out of the bathroom to search for clothes in only a towel that's hanging dangerously low on his hips.

I immediately look away from him and say, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in here."

"I'm not going to be for long," he replies as he opens up his wardrobe.

I debate on heading on into the bathroom to dress for dinner, but I'm hesitant, curious as to where Jace has been these last few days. So I say coolly, "I haven't seen you in quite some time."

"A fact, I'm sure, you're quite broken up over," Jace murmurs as he looks for something to wear.

I open my mouth, unsure as to what I'm going to say, but it doesn't matter because Jace isn't done yet.

"I'm leaving. The 3rd border is having trouble. I should be gone a week or so," he says calmly, pulling out a pair of black cargo pants and an undershirt. "Try not to grieve too much while I'm gone." He gives me a nasty smile before reaching down for the towel hanging at his waist. With a neat flick of his wrist, he has it undone, and it's falling to the ground.

I quickly avert my eyes before I can see anything, but I gasp nonetheless. "_Jace_."

"Still holding onto that misplaced modesty, I see. Don't you think we're a bit beyond that now?" I hear him changing, but I refuse to glance over, not until he's close to my shoulder and whispering, in the most condescending tone, "You can look now, Clary. It's safe."

I glare over at him as he pulls on his t-shirt, smirking at me. But his smirk is bitter, not teasing like usual.

"I'll see you in a few days," he says before he's walking out of the bedroom and leaving me before I can respond.

* * *

"Clary?"

I turn to see Valentine as I'm walking down the hall, and I repress a sigh. I just give him a polite smile as I slow my gait so that me may catch up.

"I'm so glad I caught you," he says when he's at my side. "You look lovely as ever, dear."

My smile reappears, barely curving my lips. "Why, thank you."

He inclines his head as we begin walking again. "I haven't seen you in a few days, and I…wanted to give my apologies for the trick with the wine. I'm certain Jonathan has by now told you what happened at his party."

"Yes," I murmur. "He has."

"Well, I do regret it terribly. It was a rotten thing to do, I'll admit. But sometimes, Jonathan doesn't understand things. He holds quite a bit of spite towards me, as I'm sure you've seen, so he does certain things to try and hurt me—but he's truly hurting himself, the Guardianship."

"How so?" I inquire coolly.

"The idea of an heir is not just one of my crazed obsessions. It's something that is necessary. The way Jonathan fights…well, he won't be for this world long, I'm afraid. If he dies without an heir, then it would disastrous for the Guardianship."

"Wouldn't Samuel just become the head of the Guardianship?" I ask, arching my brows innocently, to downplay my knowledge.

"Yes, but Samuel is horribly unfit to run the Guardianship. This job takes someone strong—someone that will not be easily swayed or fooled. Samuel is much too trusting of people. I'm afraid he would be the ruin of the Guardianship all together. The only way we would ever fall is by the hands of one of our own."

There's a lump in my throat but I speak around it. "I see you don't have much faith in your brother."

"As I said," Valentine murmurs with a charming smile, "The head of the Guardianship needs to be someone not easily fooled. I'm not stupid enough to trust my brother blindly just simply because we share blood. I know he would be a horrible leader."

"And what if Jace dies after we have a child," I say, the words bitter in my mouth—the thought of _us_ having a child. "Then the child will have no father. How will he become a leader with no guidance?"

"I would train him myself—fix things I did wrong with Jonathan," Valentine replies, matter-of-fact, just as I'd heard before—now being confirmed by Valentine himself.

I'm struck by how horribly cold he is.

"I know that sounds harsh," Valentine amends. "But it's the truth. I've failed Jonathan."

"How is that?"

"He's much too soft—and much too disrespectful. I should have been more stern with him, but his mother…well, she interferes in more ways than one, I'm afraid. Her feeble mind must have been passed down to Jonathan."

I can't hold my tongue, even though I know I should. I just can't. The words slip past my lips without thought. "I think Celine to be quite nice. She's very loveable—something a leader would need, don't you think? To hold to support of the people? Jace may have inherited such a trait from her, as well."

Valentine blinks rapidly, obviously put out by me. "The people's support does not matter. The job of a leader is to _lead_—to keep peace, to enforce laws, to keep balance. That is not a job for the loved one of the people. It's a job for someone strong enough to do it—a job, I fear Jonathan is not capable of."

"I believe he might surprise you," I say, coming to halt outside of my room door. I arch my brows over at Valentine. "Perhaps you don't have enough faith in him."

"It's better to have too little faith than too much," he says.

* * *

"Missing Jace?" Izzy teases as I stare out the window, my stoic as I gaze up at the gray sky. It looks as if snow may be coming.

"Hardly," I reply to her with a rueful smile.

She laughs. "You can be honest. I got lonely when Sebastian left…even though we weren't each other's soul mate or anything. You get used to certain company—and certain things at night…in the bed…_you know_—"

"Yes, Isabelle, I understood your allusion after the first hint," I mutter, rolling my eyes and looking back down at the yarn I have littered over Izzy's coffee table.

"He's been gone three weeks now," Izzy sighs, blowing her hair out of her eyes. She moves her hand down her stomach, which is just starting to have a hint of roundness to it. "It's longer than they anticipated. Aren't you worried about him?"

"Mr. Lamb assured me they were fine," I tell her, grabbing up the yarn and starting on the second little bootie in the pair I'm making for Isabelle's baby—albeit prematurely.

Simply put, I'm bored.

I've been bored for the past two weeks especially.

Everyone has been busy, and I haven't been able to find out anything—on the Millhouse, on the things my mother is after, even on petty gossip. Everyone seems very tight-lipped all of a sudden.

"Did you make passionate love to him before he left?" Isabelle demands dramatically, throwing her head and arms back.

"No," I say, knitting away.

"You're so dull sometimes, Clary."

I just roll my eyes.

"Are you gonna make passionate love to him _when he gets back_?"

"Why are you so obsessed with my love life?" I inquire, arching a brow.

"I'm not. I'm just hoping that maybe getting laid will knock some of the chill off of you," Isabelle replies, sitting her feet up on the edge of the coffee table.

I sigh. "Oh, Isabelle. You never cease to amaze me with your manners—or lack thereof."

She just laughs.

We sit in silence for a long time, me knitting and her reading some sort of old book, but as I work, I wonder if maybe the answer to some of my questions isn't right here in front of me.

Maybe I've been tiptoeing around too long and need to just take a chance.

I glance up at Izzy discreetly. She's so harmless. Surely she wouldn't go around blathering to everyone that I'd been asking questions.

"Isabelle?"

"Yeah?"

I swallow back my fear and just make the plunge. "Have you ever heard of the Millhouse incident?"

Izzy frowns a little, which stops my heart. "Wasn't that…that fire that burned up all those humans a few years back?"

I nod. "Yes, I think so. I heard something about the other day in passing—and it wasn't the first time. I was just curious as to what it was."

"Oh. Well, I think it was just this electrical fire that started in one of the old mills in Mill Village—you know, the industrial part of the city where everything gets made. Anyway, the foreman had locked the doors on the workers, to make them stay and work as long as possible, and when the fire broke out—they all got burnt up. Apparently, some of the humans even jumped from the windows of the Millhouse—just to end it rather than burn up. It was awful."

My knitting becomes a little frantic. "That _sounds_ awful. Didn't anyone try to help the poor things?"

"The Guardianship arrived too late. Most everybody had burned to death by then. It was actually kind of weird…apparently the alarm system that runs through the city to alert the Guardians of anything funky happening—well, that alarm system was messed up. It kept us from knowing there was a fire until it got to us by word-of-mouth. There was a big investigation on it."

My heart is pounding, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. "What did it turn up?"

"Oh, nothing—of course. It was just something electrical—just like at the Millhouse. They said it was all intertwined."

"So…it wasn't a person, then?" I ask, hoping that I'm not going too far.

Isabelle cocks her head, narrows her eyes. "Well, I guess it could have been. But the investigation said nope."

I nod a few times and I know I've pushed a little too much, so I quickly hold up the booties to Isabelle and inquire, "What do you think?"

* * *

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	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note: Hey, y'all! Last update of the night! Y'all better let me know what y'all think. And I better have tons of lovely feedback from most of y'all tomorrow evening when I get on here again! Of course, I don't even have to tell y'all that. That's just how amazing y'all are. Hope everyone's day is going well! Enjoy this next chapter! (:**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight

"What is this?" I demand as I walk into my apartment.

In middle of the living room sits a strange looking, tall shape obscured by a white covering, with boxes littered about, and Mr. Lamb stands there, surveying the mess carefully.

He glances over at me, and smiles grandly. "Oh, Mrs. Wayland! So glad you're here. I have something for you."

I arch my brows, drifting further into the room and sitting down my knitting things. "Well...what is all this?"

Mr. Lamb removes the covering from the item, and my eyes widen. Before me sits a dark wooden art easel—with a canvas already sitting atop it, waiting to be painted on and discovered. And then Mr. Lamb opens the boxes, letting me see the plethora of high-quality paintbrushes and the seemingly endless colors of paints hidden inside.

My jaw drops. "What…how?"

Mr. Lamb is smiling, the skin around his eyes wrinkling charmingly. "It's a gift."

"From…who?" I ask in awe. I don't believe I've been so caught off guard in the last five years.

"Mr. Wayland, of course. He phoned in last night and told me to deliver these things to you. They are all from the best art store in the city. Everything you need is here—or can at least be gotten for you. Mr. Wayland said to spare no expense, so I did."

"Jace did this?" I demand, just to make sure.

Mr. Lamb nods, still grinning as if this delights him. "Yes, ma'am. And he told me to give you this." He hands me over a small card, and before I can open it, he says, "Have a good evening, Mrs. Wayland." And then he's sneaking off, leaving me to my new things.

I stare at the easel and supplies for a long time, stunned beyond action. What possessed him?

Glancing down, I open the little card and read the writing quickly.

_-Clary_

_I hope you can find some inspiration to paint again. I'd love to see what you create._

_-Jace_

* * *

I stare at the easel for two days before touching it.

I'm just so shocked at first by Jace's surprisingly touching gift that I don't know what to do. Then I'm suspicious. Then I'm just in awe again.

But finally, on the third day, a whole month since Jace left, I decide to pick up a brush paint a little.

It's awkward at first. It's been so long since I've painted—and I've never even had such luxurious tools before, either—but eventually, I get the hang of it. I remember the feeling of a brush in my hand, and I remember what colors should be mixed, how much color should be where…and then there's no stopping me.

The first thing I paint is simply a strand of pearls on a woman's neck. It's life-like, as all my things are, but I get the feeling that it means more than an obvious picture. It represents something greater, though my own reasoning is clouded from me.

I paint all day, until I'm tired and decide to take a nap on the couch.

I lay down and stare out the window, watching the steel gray sky and praying for snow—because I do love snow—and before I know it, I've passed out. I only wish to rest for a moment or so, but I suppose I'm more tired than I think because when I'm woken again, the sky is navy and still. Abel is resting on my stomach sounding, curled up into a little ball, purring loudly.

Everything seems peaceful.

But then there's a thunk to the left of me, the same kind of sound that I realize must have woke me, and it shoots through my body like a gun, making me sit up swiftly, heart pounding.

Abel shoots down into the pitch black around us, meowing like crazy.

"Hello?" I demand into the darkness of the room.

There's a slight crashing sound before a muffled curse and then warm light is flooding the room from the lamp—the lamp Jace just turned on.

He's standing there, slightly hunched over with messy hair and a little bit of stubble from being unable to shave, but he looks relatively unscathed. And, of course, beautiful. Then he's crouching down, rubbing Abel's head, because Abel is crying relentlessly for his attention.

"You're home," I blurt out, unable to think of something else to say.

"Your keen mind takes my breath," Jace replies, standing and rolling his eyes.

I glare at him briefly before noticing the way he's hunched is completely unnatural—and unlike him. He never hunches. So I stand up slowly. "Are you hurt?"

"Not that bad. Nothing I can't take care of myself," he says, shuffling towards the bedroom.

I follow after him, hot on his heels all the way into the bathroom where he's pulling off his shirt and exposing the nasty, deep looking gash that slices across his ribs, down over his abdomen a bit before ending right above his navel.

"Shit," he grunts, looking down at it and the dried, crusty blood around it. "Do you think you could get me the first aid kit in the closet right there?"

I immediately do as he asks but as I'm searching for it, I demand, "Why didn't you let the medics take a look at that? I know you have doctors out there."

"I didn't think it was that bad. And I wanted to come home. I'm sick of being there. Nothing's even happening."

"Something obviously is," I mutter, motioning vaguely at the cut.

"This was because some asshole panicked when he heard a fucking frog croak in the woods and he pushed me out of his way—and I got shoved up against something that did this. It's nothing serious. Just a gash…Are you looking for the first aid kit or what? Do I need to get it?"

I roll my eyes at his impatience and then find the kit, pulling it out and sitting it on the counter. I pop it open and grab the things I need before Jace can. "Sit up on the counter," I order.

"I've got it," he cuts in.

"Sit," I growl, giving him a look.

Jace sighs but hoists himself up so that he sits on the edge of the counter, his legs dangling over. "So damn bossy."

I step between his legs, trying to ignore how warm he is as I reach down and begin cleaning the cut.

He's right. The cut isn't so bad once I've cleaned all the dirt and dried blood off from around the wound. It doesn't even need stitches.

As I begin doctoring it, I become acutely aware of Jace's warm breath brushing over my temple lightly, of the way his heat surrounds me, of the way his scent fills my nose—manly and spicy and so foreign to me.

"Ow," Jace hisses suddenly when I touch the cut with a new ointment. I watch in fascination as all the muscles in his abdomen tighten and clench with pain.

"Sorry," I say, not sounding one bit apologetic.

I finish up with the medicines and then grab one of the stick-on bandages big enough to entirely cover the wound. I peel the backing off carefully and then gently press it to Jace's gash, making sure it sticks.

Then he's sliding off the counter, crowding me as he does so. "Thanks."

I nod in response, and I don't back away from him, to give him room to walk away. Instead, I tilt my head up towards him, meeting his eyes that burn like molten gold. "Thank you," I say.

Jace stares down at me with a carefully neutral face. "For what?"

"For the painting things. I forgot how much I enjoyed it," I say softly because I really do mean it. "What possessed you?"

The ghost of a smile passes over his lips. "I just thought it'd be something good for you. And it was a shameless tactic to smooth things over between us."

I drop my eyes briefly but peep back up at him from underneath my lashes, watching as the shadow of lust falls over his face, darkening it, making it wilder. Helping it to steal my breath.

"Things _have_ been smoothed over between us—for some time now," I murmur quietly, barely able to hold his bright, predatory eyes.

"Have they?" he inquires back, his voice barely a whisper but it somehow reverberates in my ears, down into my chest, through my bones.

I can't respond verbally, so I just nod rapidly.

"Clary," Jace says softly but doesn't say anything else. His hot hands just come up, cradling my face gently, his thumbs stroking the skin of my cheekbones.

I stare up at him, helpless, trapped, with my lips parted and shallow breaths sawing in and out between them.

And then Jace is leaning down, and though I expect one of his fiery kisses, he takes my bottom lip in his mouth, sucking on it gently as I almost moan in relief at the contact. Our lips move together briefly and then Jace is pulling away, a small pucker forming between his eyebrows as he stares down at me, his eyes on fire.

I look up at him, almost pleadingly but most definitely lustily. It's a look that feels surprisingly comfortable on my face, not forced in face of what he's making me feel.

Jace brushes his nose against mine. "Don't look at me like that, Clary," he whispers hotly over my parted lips.

"Like what?" I inquire, breathlessly, innocently though I'm anything but at this point.

Jace's lips trail over mine, down my chin, across my jaw, to my ear, leaving a trail of fire behind, a torturous burn. "Like you want me to fuck you." He says the words quietly, gently, as to not scare me off.

But there's nothing he could do to scare me off at this point, as much as I hate to admit.

His words only make the fire building inside my stomach erupt into crackling flames that engulf me from head to toe. My skin hums with electricity, with his nearness, and Isabelle's advice echoes in my ears. So I let myself enjoy this, this crazy, unusual, feral reaction my body has to him. I'm hot and wild feeling, alien—so unlike myself. Like I'm standing on a cliff, ready to spiral downwards, but I don't care about the impact at the bottom—I just want to experience the thrill of the fall.

"What do _you_ want to do?" I ask Jace sweetly, still looking up at him from underneath my lashes.

My question has the desired effect.

I see the subtle shift in him, feel it in the air. It makes my heart want to burst free from my chest.

"Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?" Jace murmurs back in that same quiet voice, but now, there's a lower note, something that thrums beneath the surface like a warning.

A warning I don't heed.

"I think I'd rather you show me the answer." I can't believe the words as they come out of my mouth. I'm not sure if it's training or instinct or just a flashback to the dirty books I read, but the words are out there—and I can't take them back. I don't think I want to.

Jace exhales a hot laugh against my ear, his hands running down my neck, over my shoulders, pulling at the sides of my silken robe as they go, exposing my nightgown to him. And then one hand is grabbing a fistful of my hair at the nape of my neck, yanking my head backwards—gently but firmly, making me gasp with desire.

Jace's face is close, his lips brushing over mine as he speaks. "I'm only going to ask you this one time tonight, Clary—and that's it." He kisses me teasingly before continuing. "Are you sure what to do this?"

I don't hesitate. "Yes."

Jace doesn't hesitate, either. True to his word.

He's lifting me up suddenly, tossing me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing, and it makes me giggle—actually giggle, though the sound is a lot more breathless than it use to be.

And then we're in the bedroom and he's tossing me down on the mattress, jerking open my robe all the way. His warm, large hands skim down over the silk of the nightgown, over my trembling, clenching stomach down to the hem of the dress that rests on my thighs.

Instead of pulling the dress up, though, his fingers run down the soft skin of my legs, carefully, teasingly tracing all the way down to my ankles. His hand closes around my left ankle gently and then he's pulling it up towards him, lifting my leg, so that he can press a soft kiss to my skin there. And then he's tilting his head, pressing those hot, slow kisses all the way up the inside of my calf, over the side of my knee, further.

His fiery eyes meet mine as he continues his dangerous path, and though my body is screaming yes, I'm still too hesitant for what I think he's doing.

So I grab at his shoulders and yank him down onto me. He's not expecting it and he falls on top of me, making us both laugh a little breathlessly before we're kissing—rough and fast and desperate.

"Shit, Clary," he groans, pulling away from me just a little, just so he can reach between us and undo his belt.

And I'm shaking my arms out of my robe, pulling my nightgown up and over my body, tossing it to the side without a bat of my lashes. Then Jace is kissing my uncovered skin hungrily while still trying to undo his pants.

My hands run over his bare shoulders and chest greedily, trying to memorize every dip of his muscle, every hard plane of his perfect body. He is perfect. Or at least, I think he is. All hard, strong muscle over smooth, warm, gold skin.

He stands up briefly, to shove down his pants and boxers, and then he's on top of me again, scooting us up the bed, pulling down my panties slowly.

My legs part for him immediately, ready for him, but he's not ready yet. He wants to draw this out no matter how frantic our kisses and hands are.

He's dropping his head to my chest, peppering kisses over my breasts, his tongue darting out to circle my hardened nipples occasionally. When he does this, I groan and arch my back up to meet him, which makes him smile against my skin. Every time.

Then he's moving down my body, lavishing me with those scalding hot, open-mouthed, brief kisses that are making me crazy, making me squirm underneath him for relief he denies me.

I feel his hands on my knees, moving upwards, scraping deliciously over my thighs, up to my hips, and then he's dipping one hand between my legs, touching me where I'm burning for him.

I bite my lip to keep from moaning, but some sort of sound still squeaks through as I try not to buck against his fingers, which are probing teasingly at my entrance before finally, finally, slipping inside me.

We both moan in unison, and then Jace is muttering against my shaking stomach. "You're so wet, Clary," he says in a low groan. His fingers pump into me once, twice, and his lips are moving lower, over my navel, down before his lips are brushing back and forth, from hipbone to hipbone.

Then he goes even lower, and I'm grabbing at his hair, holding him away from him, keeping him from his goal.

"No, Jace, no," I manage to choke out, nearly delirious from the things he's doing to me. "No, I'm not ready…not for that."

His eyes meet mine hotly over the length of my body, and he stares at me for only a few seconds before letting me pull him back over me, covering me. And when I feel his weight pressing into me, when I feel him pulling my knees up to his sides, when I feel his length just ghosting over where I need him—I feel safer. Safer yet not. Excited.

"Okay," he murmurs against my mouth before kissing me soundly, a surprisingly sweet and long kiss.

I'm grabbing at his shoulders, rolling my hips upwards towards him, begging for him. "Thank you," I pant against his lips.

He just smiles softly, a sleepy yet burning look in his eyes as he rests his forehead against mine. "Anything you want, Clary. It's yours." And then he's thrusting into me, filling me completely.

* * *

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	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Wow. Y'all are amazing. 'Nuff said. Enjoy the first of two updates this evening! (:**

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine

When my eyes blink open, I'm completely aware of Jace behind me. His chest is pressed against my bare back, and his arm is draped over my side, his hand resting possessively over my stomach. I can feel his slow and steady breaths on the nape of my neck, and even though it's completely innocent, I still feel the goosebumps rising over my skin.

I allow myself a small, languid smile into the pillow because I feel good. I feel rested, despite how late Jace and I stayed up the night previous. There is a little bit of nagging worry in the back of my mind—worry that I'm letting myself slip—but I ignore it.

What's the harm in this? In enjoying this wonderful new world Jace has introduced me to? It feels good, and I haven't felt good in a long time. This won't distract me from my plans, nor hinder my ability to carry them out. It's just physical gratification.

I smooth my hand down the arm Jace has snaked around me, feeling the muscle lurking underneath his warm skin.

His breathing changes a little, a small exhale escaping his lips.

I move my hand down and begin playing gently with his fingers, hoping he'll wake up.

And he does.

I hear him groan sleepily behind me, and then he's stretching before pulling me closer to him, fitting our bodies together perfectly, not one sliver of space between us.

That's when I feel him pressing against my backside appetizingly, and a shocked, breathless little "Oh!" echoes from my lips as I feel how hard he is.

Jace lets out this quiet, hot little chuckle against my neck, making me shiver and push back against him experimentally. He groans softly, his face buried in my hair.

Then I feel the hand that has been lying innocently on my stomach slip down, torturously slow, until he's touching me where I'm already on fire for him, embarrassingly aroused. He teases me for a moment before easing a finger into me, making me cry out softly into the pillow and push back against him roughly.

He begins pumping his finger in and out as I roll myself back onto him, feeling how deliciously hard he is, how he's getting impossibly harder the more the time passes, and I'm imagining that it's his length inside me now and it has me already tightening, ready to snap.

"Jace," I gasp softly when he adds another finger, his tempo increasing. I'm shamelessly moving against his hand now, pressing and twisting and squirming, anything to increase the friction, which just rubs his excitement against me more. "Jace, please."

He kisses my neck, my shoulder, warm and lingering little brushes despite how fast and rough his fingers are thrusting into me now.

My stomach quivers as I begin to thrash around wildly, groaning loudly, and then Jace curls his fingers—and that's it. He gets me exactly where I need to go, and I'm crying out his name into the pillow, shuddering as I milk his fingers desperately.

And then, before I'm even done, he's rolling me onto my stomach, spreading my legs, lifting me a little, angling me just right, and he's inside me.

I scream—an actual scream—as I clutch at the sheets, burying my face in the pillow to muffle the sounds I'm making.

I feel him sweep my hair over my right shoulder, exposing my neck and back to him, and he kisses my overheated skin quickly, hotly as he pulls out of me, almost all the way, before slamming back home.

This is different, like this. More…I'm not sure. More animalistic, perhaps? I can't explain it, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the way his hands are sliding up my stomach, fondling my breasts, the way he's pounding into me, over and over, until I'm screaming into the pillow again, almost shredding the sheets with my nails, arching back against him to meet his powerful thrusts each time.

The kisses he's been peppering over my shoulders and neck become gentle little bites that make me crazy because they hurt yet feel so amazing. And it's too much—the pain from his teeth and the pain from his rough thrusting with the bliss from the way he's rolling my hardened nipples between his fingers—it's just too much.

"JACE!" I yell so loudly that it echoes off the ceiling, over the walls.

And I'm clamping down around him, exploding yet again, drawing him deep within me. Each shudder of my orgasm makes me press back against him rhythmically and it's enough to send him over the edge as well. I feel him pulse inside me, and then comes the rush of heat that feels so delicious within me.

Jace groans loudly into my neck, his hands finding mine amongst the tangled sheets and intertwining our fingers. His grip is tight as he trembles against me, but I don't care. I relish it.

Then, when we are both finished, we just lay there for a moment, panting loudly.

When we finally quiet some, we hear it—the panicked meowing of Abel outside the door along with incessant scratching.

Jace laughs once against my ear, making me shiver despite myself. "Abel must think I'm killing you."  
I laugh breathlessly in return, but it turns to a moan as Jace rolls off of me, pulling out of me, causing one last pass of friction.

Then, once he's lying on his back beside me, I feel him brush my hair gently from my face. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

I turn my face to look over at him. It's the only thing I can move at the moment. "Yes."

His hair is messy, his eyes bright but still just a little sleepy. He's got the hint of stubble on his jaw that catches the earl morning sun just right. "You're not going to flip out on me again, are you?"

"No," I reply, smiling just a little but hiding it with my arm.

Jace maneuvers me, rolling me onto my back, with his knees on either side of me, supporting his weight as he grabs my arms and lifts them away from my chest, exposing me completely to him in the telling morning sun.

I blush and try to cover myself, but he won't let me. He's simply looking at me, taking me in, making me feel prickly and uncomfortable.

Then his eyes meet mine. "You're beautiful." Then his golden, warm eyes narrow just slightly. "But you already know that, I'm sure." He leans down and kisses me once.

"I sure don't mind hearing it, though."

Jace jerks back a bit, his brows arching. "Why, Mrs. Wayland. Was that a joke? Surely not."

"I do have a sense of humor, you know," I say, rolling my eyes.

"So I'm beginning to see." Jace tilts his head back down. Kisses me again. And again, so thoroughly that I'm beginning to feel that now-familiar but never less exciting tingly sensation dropping from my stomach to the apex of my legs. Again.

But then Jace sighs and pulls away, frowning. "I have to go train this morning."  
I feel my face fall slightly. "Oh."

Jace arches an eyebrow. "Is that disappointment I hear in your voice?"

I shove him off me. "Hardly."

"There's the girl I know," Jace remarks ruefully before rolling out of bed and finding his discarded boxers and pants, yanking them up quickly. He runs his hands through his messy hair while he searches for his shirt. "I'll go and be back soon. Why don't you just wait in bed?"

"I'm not laying around all day in bed, Jace, waiting for you to come back and do such improper things to me," I huff, jutting out my chin. "I'm not your whore, you know."

"I never said that! Why do you always think I'm saying that?" He's rolling his eyes now, loosing a little bit of his playfulness in face of aggravation.

But I don't care. He needs to know where we stand. I'm not lying around waiting for him to come back and take me whenever he pleases. Just because I've decided this is a very enjoyable pastime does not mean it will be something we do all the time, on Jace's command.

"You need not think this will be a regular thing, you know," I say, just to be clear.

Jace finds a shirt and yanks it over his head. "With your mood swings, I do know." He leans in to kiss me, but I turn my head at the last second and his lips press into my cheek. He sighs. "Well, I suppose I would start panicking if you didn't act like this at least a little. I'll see you later."

"Hmph," I mutter in return, and then I hear the bedroom door and open and shut, followed by Jace talking to Abel, soothing the cat's obviously frayed nerves.

* * *

"Clarissa?"

I glance over my shoulder as Celine eases into the room, wearing her long nightgown as usual.

I offer her a little smile as I wipe my paint-smeared hands on my apron and turn towards her, away from my easel. "Good morning," I say, flushing just slightly. I can't look her directly in the eye—not considering only two hours ago her son and I were…

"Are you feeling well today?"

I jump slightly, guilty, and then I tell myself that I'm being ridiculous. Jace and I are married. This is acceptable married behavior. Celine must expect it…mustn't she?

"Yes, I'm feeling very well," I say, nodding a few times as she smiles and drifts over to the window, her usual place. "And you?"

"Oh…I haven't been sleeping—you know all about that. But when I do sleep…I keep having these nightmares. Horrible images…blood and death and dark power." Celine frowns, her eyes going distant. "I think it'll happen soon."

"What will happen soon?" I inquire slowly, carefully.

Celine's face screws up just slightly, and she raises a trembling hand to her temple. "I'm not sure…it's blurry." She sways slightly.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

Celine pales rapidly, frighteningly. She leans forward suddenly, barely catching herself on the edge of the window. Her head shakes back and forth. "It's all fuzzy. Distorted. Not set in stone yet."

"Celine?" I cry, becoming increaslingly disturbed by her actions.

And then she blinks, straightens, falls out of whatever haze she's been in and only offers me a slightly surprised smile. "Oh, I'm fine, Clarissa. No need to worry about me." She smoothes her hands down her gown. "I just feel a bit—"

But she never finishes.

Instead, her eyes roll to the whites, her head jerks back, and she shudders once—a whole body shiver. And then she's collapsing to the ground—hard, without the sense to protect herself from the fall. She's writhing on the ground now, her arms and legs bent out awkwardly beneath her as her body revolts.

I'm frozen.

Horrified.

But only for a moment.

I lurch into action, falling down next to her, trying to calm the spasms she's having—but to no avail.

"Celine!" I exclaim. "Celine, wake up!"

Her eyes are open, but they are exposing only the bloodshot whites, giving her the most frightening kind of look as she groans low under her breath.

I'm unsure of what to do, so I try to just keep her body relatively still until this seizure passes. My hands shakes with fear as I do so, and I feel useless.

The front door creaks open, and Jace is there, greeted by the panicked Abel, and I cry his name out sharply, immediately drawing his attention.

There's no surprise on his face, only a calculated, in charge sort of calm as he crosses the floor and drops down beside his jerking mother.

"You can let go of her," he says softly, and I withdraw my hands, watching as he gently turns Celine onto her side as she shudders.

"Should we…should we get her a spoon or something—to bite down on?"

Jace shakes his head, his eyes focused solely on Celine, and though he's outwardly together, I see the pain lancing beneath. "No. It could break her teeth."

I nod, wringing my hands as Celine keeps convulsing. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Just make sure she doesn't hurt herself," Jace says quietly, keeping her from falling onto her back again.

Celine continues seizing for the next two minutes before finally, she is blessedly still. Throughout the whole ordeal, Jace has kept a neutral expression, but as soon as Celine stops moving, he sighs in relief and pulls his tiny mother towards him, brushing her hair gently off her head.

"I'm going to put her on the couch," Jace murmurs to me before standing and lifting Celine as though she weighs nothing—which I'm sure she doesn't weigh much—and he lies her gingerly on the couch, fixing a pillow behind her head as she sleeps.

"Will she be okay?" I inquire as I get to my feet and come to stand beside him.

He stares down at his mother with a troubled expression. "She usually is."

"Usually?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but Celine is suddenly awake, clutching at his arm desperately as she rasps, with unseeing eyes, "Jace, something…something bad is going to happen to you."

"It's all right, Mother. I'm fine. Nothing bad is going—" Jace begins to soothe, as if he's done this before.

Celine is shaking her head, seeing something else, beyond us as she looks between Jace and I. "No. Something horrible will happen. Change is coming, Jace. It's coming. You…you won't be safe. I don't think. It's so blurry…I can't…can't—"

"Rest, Mother. You need to rest," he urges gently, leaning down towards her.

She suddenly grabs his face, and her eyes are very present now, staring into his intensely. I see them glisten with unshed tears and deep pain. Her voice is a low, hoarse whisper, but I still hear it very clearly as she says, "You're going to die."

And then she's asleep again.

* * *

**Ok. Y'all are about to learn more about Celine. Also, sorry for another lemon at the beginning of the story. Once again, necessary. I promise this isn't going to turn into a smut fest with no more plot. Truly, the sex scenes in this story are just a subplot. It's really not about them getting it on, so those of you that don't enjoy these scenes, fret not. I will not abandon my story just for the sex scenes. There won't even be any sex scenes for a while, or if there are, they will be brief. Not that detailed. So just getting that out there! (:**


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: Super short, tiny chapter. I'm sorry, y'all. But something weird is going on with my hand. It really HURTS and my thumb is all swollen. I don't know what's going on but I'm having to give it a rest for the night.**

**First, though, let me address a few things.**

**I've gotten a lot of Clary/pregnancy issues coming up. Let me just tell everyone at once-Clary is not pregnant, I promise! She is taking a monthly birth control pill. It's the future and I have creative licensing so I say that this pill works flawlessly. However, no one knows she is taking birth control except her mother. The whole idea is for Clary to have Jace's kid, in the Guardians' eyes.**

**I promised someone Izzy in this chapter, but it just didn't work out and I apologize for lying. It wasn't a lie at the time I told it to you. As for how far along Izzy is with her pregnancy...honestly, I have no clue. Maybe I have some readers that follow time lines SUPER closely and know exactly how many days it's been since Clary first moved in to the Wanderer, how many days it's been since Izzy got pregnant, and so forth, but I really don't know myself. Is that bad? I'm sorry if it is. I'm just going to say Clary has been at the hotel three months now, and Izzy is two months pregnant even though that's probably not right. If it's not, I'm sorry. You'll have to deal with it or message me the proper time line because I'm crazy.**

**Anyway, the next thing I was going to talk about was... hm. I can't remember! Y'all are just gonna have to forgive me tonight. I'm super tired because it's HUUUUUUUUUUMP DAAAAAAAAAAAAY. And I just can't think right now.**

**Please, please, please feel free to send a review asking a question or a private message. I respond to EVERYTHING EVERYONE sends. Seriously. EVERYTHING. Even though I can stress myself out sometimes. Y'all deserve an answer from me because y'all are taking time out of your day to read my crap AND THEN even care enough to review or ask questions? Um, yeah. Y'all deserve answers.**

**Anyway, enjoy. Sorry about the long A/N. YIKES! Have a nice day/night depending on where you are at the moment! (:**

* * *

Chapter Forty

"Can she see the future?" I ask Jace, point-blank, as soon as Celine is sleeping soundly again on the couch.

Jace is still frowning from his mother's revelation as he looks over at me. "No. Not really. Sometimes, there have been some things she's called before they happen. But often time, some Guardians are gifted with just a slight touch of clairvoyance."

"So why do people always have something nasty to say about her mental health?" I demand, putting my hands on my hips.

Jace rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head from side to side, working out any cramps. "Because Guardians that have gifts are born with them—they display talent from the time they are born onwards. My mother didn't start claiming clairvoyance until she'd already married and had me. People just assumed she went crazy after being married to my father and having her first child."

I frown. "So no one else in the history of the Guardianship has displayed gifts after they've already grown up?"

Jace shakes his head and looks back down at his sleeping mother. "No. Which raises the question whether Mom is insane or not."

"But you said she's talked about some things before they happen—"

"It _could_ be coincidence. Haven't you ever had a dream and then had that dream play out in real life years later? Like déjà vu?"

I blow out a small breath, relenting. But then I add, "I don't believe in coincidences."

At this, Jace gives the ghost of smile and cuts his eyes over at me. "I don't either."

"You just said—"

"I said it could be a coincidence—not that I believed in them. It could be any number of things. I just have a hard time swallowing some 'coincidences.'" He crosses his arms and eyes me, with this curious, strange light shinning through from him face.

I arch my brows at him in question. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's just that your sudden shift in mood towards me hasn't gone unnoticed. The whole cat thing was incredibly out of character for you."

I scoff at this, rolling my eyes and looking away from him. "You don't know anything about my character."

"That's also true, in a way, I suppose. I really don't know you—I don't know anything about you hardly. And I most definitely don't understand you. I don't trust things I don't understand."

"You must not trust much in this world, then," I mutter, letting my eyes flicker back over to him.

He just smiles a little, still looking at me with that unwavering, probing gaze as he says, quietly, "I don't."

* * *

A few days pass without much interaction between Jace and I. He's mostly busy, training and disappearing with his father for hours on end. I'm suspicious, but of course, I don't ask him about it.

I can't afford to arouse his suspicion more.

* * *

"You haven't found _anything_?" Mother inquires, frowning in concern at me across our table in the swanky human restaurant.

"No, Mother. I haven't had the opportunity. And I don't quite know what to focus on, either. There are so many questions we have that need to be answered."

Mother tilts her head in agreement. "Clary, forget about the Millhouse incident for now. It's not as important as the whole picture. I want the Guardian's Book. It's not an urban legend—there is a book that holds their secrets, their origins, their past, their plans for the future—everything. That's what we need more than anything. The Millhouse…that's more personal. Besides, I'm fairly certain we know who is responsible for it, anyway."

I arch a brow at her. "Valentine."

"Yes. There were sightings of him at the Millhouse right before it erupted into flame."

"These sightings were given to you by a handful of unreliable witnesses, though, Mother. It just doesn't make sense for Valentine to kill those people. He's horrible, but he's smart. He knows that kind of blemish on his record would not bode well. And even if he did, for some reason, want all those poor workers dead, he would never have done it himself, would he?"

"As paranoid as he is, I believe he would have done it himself—so no one could hold anything over him," Mother reasons. "However, his actual intentions for setting the fire are still beyond me. Perhaps the Guardian's Book could answer those questions."

"How am I to find this book? In the months I've lived in the Wanderer, it's never even been mentioned," I tell her, shaking my head just slightly.

"It's because it's their most valued secret. Ask your human friend about it. Perhaps he'd be more willing to talk about it than a Guardian. Most humans don't understand the importance of it. He should be rather easy to sway, too, seeing as how much of a crush he seems to have on you."

I feel a little bitterness coat my throat, but, as always, my face remains smooth. "I will see what I can do."

Mother nods, pleased before changing the subject. "How is Jace?"

"Suspicious of me. As always."

"You need to win him over, Clary."

"That's easier said than done, Mother."

"Remember the things I taught you."

"Jace isn't going to be fooled by my batting eyelashes or my sultry voice," I argue, giving her a look that just borders on a glare. I've never been so curt with my mother before, and it sickens me to do so now. But it is easy for her to sit there and tell me what to do when she does not fully understand the situation because she is not living it.

Mother looks at me in barely concealed shock for just the briefest of moments before her face is shut down, much like my own. She just takes a sip of water and says, "Give it time, Clary. He will fall for you. All men are fools when it comes to such things."

I nod in response, but I wonder if Jace is truly such a fool as my mother and I previously thought.

* * *

**Thoughts, comments, questions, concerns. LET ME KNOW! (:**


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: HEY, Y'ALL! My hand's still all weird, but I was inspired. There will be two updates today, this being the first. Anyway, I wanted to let y'all know that today I met with a retired professor that still hangs around the university. He wants me to start writing my own things (which I'm already doing) and sharing them with him. Also, I have a major project (writing project) I'm working on for school. So I'll be spread thin these next few weeks. I probably won't be updating daily anymore. I'm just really too busy to handle it, and I apologize. But there's nothing else I can do about it, and I thought I should let y'all know! I'M SO SORRY! :(**

**But enjoy this anyway. And please don't hate me!**

* * *

Chapter Forty-One

"How's your mother?" I inquire of Jace as he comes out of the bathroom, rubbing at his shower-wet hair with a towel. I haven't had time to ask him this yet. Last night, he didn't come in until I was already in bed. I had pretended to be asleep.

"She's fine," Jace replies, dropping the towel and walking over to his closet, finding a shirt to wear. "She's feeling much better."

"Did she mention anything…odd again?" I test.

"Like me dying?" Jace shoots back, giving me a tiny grin over his shoulder. "No, she didn't. She's just paranoid like Father. She worries too much about me. She always has."

"She loves you," I say, because I feel the need to.

Jace just shrugs, and I can tell I've embarrassed him a bit—which is just as shocking as it is appealing. I like the little pink flush of his neck and cheeks. It makes him look younger. Makes him feel different to me.

"Where are you off to?" I inquire, stretching in the bed, sitting up slowly.

"Training," is Jace's answer as he finds a white t-shirt and yanks it over his head.

"You've been training an awful lot lately."

"I always train like this. I just didn't the first few weeks you were here. But this is my normal routine—six hours every day doing something."

I feel my eyebrows arch. "That's a lot of work."

"Keeps me in shape," Jace replies, tugging at the low-riding waistband of his gray sweat pants. "Never know when you're going to get called out somewhere."

I smile just a little at his desire and _need_ to be doing something all the time. He doesn't strike me as the type that could ever just sit still or relax. He likes having things on his plate, likes staying active. I try to imagine him at my school, at being stuck in a desk all day, and I am unable to grasp the image. It's too foreign.

It's too foreign to see Jace in my previous life at all.

* * *

"I'm starting to get fat," Izzy complains, touching at her just slightly protruding stomach.

"I think that's unavoidable, Isabelle," I remark, rotating my ankle as I cross my legs and work at knitting more booties. I've been so bored lately that I've made boy booties, girl booties, and yellow booties, too. By the time Isabelle's child is born, it will have over a hundred pairs of knitted booties.

"Well, I don't like it. None of my pants fit."

"Wear dresses."

"I hate wearing dresses—unlike you. In fact, I don't think I've ever even seen you in a pair of pants," Isabelle says, a little accusation in her voice.

"I've worn pants before," I protest, though I haven't worn a pair in years. "I just prefer dresses."

"Do you? Or do you think that you're required to wear them? You aren't, you know. Us Guardian women wear pants all the time—especially in training." Isabelle pauses at this and then sighs—heavily, a silent plea for me to ask her what was wrong.

So I do.

And she says, "I just miss training, is all. I used to train all the time—especially with Alec and Jace. I just wish I could. But I can't with the kid." She smacks her stomach.

I roll my eyes at this. "What's so wonderful about working yourself into a sweat for hours on end?"

"It feels good when it's over—exhilrating. And it keeps you fit. It's really the best feeling in the world, once you get used to it—besides sex."

I blush just a little, looking down carefully at the booties, working to keep my face neutral.

"Holy shit. You are blushing."

"No, I'm not. Don't be absurd," I scoff.

"You are! What are you thinking about? Jace?" she teases with a sing-song voice.

I'm embarrassed at myself more than anything. I've never felt like such a sixteen-year-old before, and it's odd. Uncomfortable and itchy, like an old wool sweater against my skin. And my blush is stinging hot on my cheeks, another feeling I'm not used to.

"Don't worry about it, Clary," Isabelle announces grandly. "It's just us girls. I don't know why you have such a hard time opening up to me. It's not like I'm intimating…am I?" She squeaks suddenly, her eyes widening.

I ignore her question and instead contemplate what she's saying. I've never had a friend before—not one that I was close to or ever spent much time with—besides my mother. I've never had the time nor the inclination to go out and make friends with kids at my school—it seemed pointless. There was nothing they could give me or do for me. And most of them looked down on me anyway. They would have called my mother a whore, like all their parents. I couldn't have that.

But Isabelle…she's accepting of me. She doesn't mind my past, even if she doesn't know much about it, and she's fine with what I am. And my mother, too. It makes me feel slightly guilty because this is all a lie.

But it doesn't have to be all a lie, I think. Isabelle and I could truly be friends—well, not forever but for now. What's the harm in it? The idea of talking to someone is so appealing, if not a little frightening.

Still, I decide to try.

"Isabelle?" I inquire slowly.

She arches her brows at me, waiting.

"Jace and I haven't…well, we haven't been together in a day or so—which doesn't sound like a long time—but…I don't know. I don't know if I like how…how good it is," I mutter, blushing even more scarlet. I want to roll my eyes at myself. I've never stuttered so much or hesitated so often. I can't stand it.

"You don't like that it's good?" Isabelle inquires, obviously confused.

"I just…I don't feel like myself…when it's happening. I just…I'm so—out of control. And it's just so…personal." My hand shakes a little, my knitting needles clanking together.

"Oh, Clary, come _on_! You have to loosen up. It's not like Jace is going to kill you or humiliate you if you just let him see a little bit of the real you—unless the real you is this—this icy, super-girl you are now. In which case, that's just sad."

"Thanks."

"But in all seriousness, I don't think you _are_ that person. Maybe your life up until this point has made you that way. I mean, things aren't exactly ideal—but they aren't for any of us. I might as well not have parents because they're never around. Celine is crazy. Jace has an abusive father. Everyone has problems. It's just learning to let others help you out a little." Izzy draws her knees up to her chest and beams at me. "Trusting someone just a small amount isn't going to be the end of your world, Clary. Just…open up. You don't have to tell me or Jace anyting super personal, but just don't be so worried all the time about being so…so…perfect!"

I blink and then clear my throat. "Am I horribly unapproachable, Isabelle?"

"Not horribly so." Izzy regards me a little, tilting her head to the side. "Why don't you just…slouch for a second. Don't sit up so straight."

"I like sitting straight," I respond.

"Slouch, Clary."

I do, but it feels unnatural and uncomfortable. Mother has been teaching me how to sit like a proper young lady since I was five. I don't know any other way.

"All right, that's enough," Isabelle sighs, waving her hands. "You look downright pained. Maybe you should just try working on attitude instead. If you can't sit like you don't have a stick up your ass, just try _speaking_ like you don't."

"I'm not sure how to do any of this," I mutter, rolling my eyes, that uncomfortable, prickly feeling returning—full force this time. I'm nearly itching out of my skin.

"Well, you taught me some things." Izzy scoots up in her chair a bit and leans forwards toward me, an excited, dangerous light in her eyes. "Maybe I can return the favor."

* * *

After an hour of Isabelle's strange lessons on how to be less "uptight," as she's phrased it, I start back to my room—only to run into Simon.

I see him walking down the hall, and for a moment, I debate on letting him keep walking, to the elevator, down and away from me.

But Mother's advice echoes back to me, and I'm reminded of why I'm here—and what I need to do, even if it's not pleasant or kind of me.

So I yell his name, placing a small, flirtatious smile on my mouth as I let my hips drop into a wide swinging motion as I walk towards him.

He smiles a little in return, looking both intrigued and nervous—like a rat in a corner, wanting to bolt.

"Hey, Clary," he says when I'm close to him.

"I feel as though I haven't seen you in ages, darling," I say, linking my arm with his. I smile up at him from underneath my lashes. "Have you been hiding from me? I do hope Jace hasn't scared you off."

Simon rolls his eyes at this. "Hardly. I've just…been busy."

I nod once. "Well, I'm glad to see you now. Why don't we take a walk?"

Simon looks briefly uncomfortable. "What if…someone sees us?"

I arch a brow playfully. "Sees us walking together? That's hardly a cause for concern, Simon. It's not at all scandalous."

"Oh." He clenches his jaw, his eyes darting around nervously before meeting mine again. He sighs just slightly. "What if _Jace_ sees us?"

"I can take care of him, darling," I murmur, patting his arm soothingly. "Now, let's begin our walk. It's getting late enough as it is. And we have some catching up to do."

Simon is hesitant, but in the end, he doesn't argue. He just goes along. Because I've asked him—and only because it is _me_.

Guilt consumes me, but I try not to show it as start talking. I try to remain as light and flirty as he likes, but all the while, there's a bitter film coating the back of my throat, giving me the urge to grimace each time I swallow.

I wonder how my mother does this—hooks men and then uses them. I've seen her do it before, when we were hungry or she needed information. She did this without batting an eyelash, without ever seeming to feel remorse.

But I'm sickened by it. And I wonder how I've been blind to this for so long now. After years of watching her do it, I never thought of it, either—not until now, when I know what I'm doing, when I'm taking advantage of Simon's slight affection for me.

There's nothing to prevent it, now, though, so I just pray that one day I'll be forgiven.

* * *

**So...do y'all think Jace will make an apperance while Clary and Simon are hanging out? And if so, are y'all excited by this prospect. I've been getting a lot of I LOVE JEALOUS JACE type things on here. So maybe some of y'all will be pleased if he does show up. Or maybe not... anyway, let me know y'all's thoughts! (:**


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: Ok. So SUPER DUPER LONG CHAPTER! AH! I'm sorry for how inconsistent the chapter sizes are because it really bothers me, but I couldn't find a place to cut this chapter off. So I'm sorry again.**

**A few things to address.**

**The reviewer that makes the cake metaphors tickles me to death. Please continue.**

**Another reviewer made an awesome catch, too, by the way. She said that the whole Millhouse thing sounded familiar. And it is. I based it off an event that I read about years ago, and that has stuck in my mind ever since: The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, which occured on Mach 25, 1911 in New York. It was horrible. Look it up if you don't know what it was. It was just tragic, which is why I based the Millhouse thing after it. Look up the pictures for it, and it will give you an idea of what the city Clary and Jace live in looks like, as well. Even though the clothing styles are mostly based in the 1940's, the architecture is older, like early 1900's/1920's-in my mind, at least. **

**So, anyway. I know I was going to talk about something else...something someone mentioned, but I've forgotten. If you have a question, ask me please, and I shall answer it.**

**Also, thank y'all for all the concern about my hand! Y'all bring tears of joy to my eyes! I wasn't even expecting y'all to be like oh sorry. What an unexpected perk! Y'all are precious! It's still swollen today but not hurting. Don't know what's going on. **

**Anyway, enjoy this long chapter for it will be the last of its kind for the remainder of the week and weekend. Maybe Monday there will some chapters. Don't expect any until then. Sorry :(**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two

I don't ask Simon about the book this evening.

I can't make it too obvious. I have to build up a closer friendship with him, as to make the questions on the book come about naturally.

As we are walking back towards the elevator, so that I can get back to my room before nightfall, I realize that Simon is a nice boy. Genuinely nice. I like him. He's funny and kind and so different than any other boys I've ever met before.

And this, of course, only makes my disgust for my greater.

I don't want to do this. I don't see how I can—how I can trick him. I don't want to trick Izzy, either, because she tries so hard to help me, to be the friend she thinks I so desperately need. It makes me so guilty that I'm starting to loose a bit of my acting abilities, starting to let a little more of myself slip through the cracks and show.

I should be in more control of myself, especially if I want these plans to work. Or else, all this to this point will be for nothing.

* * *

I say goodbye to Simon and then go back to my room.

As soon as I walk in, I see Jace. He's sitting on the floor, rubbing Abel's belly. Abel's purrs are deafening.

I smile a little as I close the door behind me, watching as the little kitten rolls back and forth slightly, wanting more of his round little tummy being tended to.

Jace's eyes snap up to meet mine, and immediately, I see the heat and anger there.

I ignore it, though. Perhaps if I ignore it long enough, he will cool slightly. "Have a good training day?" I inquire as I drift into the room, my heels clacking softly against the floor. I walk towards the bedroom, turning my back to him, so I don't see him stand up and approach me until he's already on me, his steps as silent as a cat's.

I'm being spun around and slammed back against the wall simultaneously, and though he is careful not to hurt me, I still gasp at the livid strain in his face as he looks down at me.

"I know, Clary. I fucking know you were with that little human bastard again," he growls in a low, dangerous and quick voice, his hot breath brushing over my lips. "Aline told me—she saw you together."

"Of course Aline told you," I scoff. "She's constantly falling all over you."

"Are you going to deny it?" he demands, not deterred by my poor attempt at distraction.

I raise my eyes to his, meeting them with as much calm as I can, but in truth, my heart is pounding. Pounding at his anger. Pounding at his closeness. I feel my body going down a different path than my mind, slightly aroused by him, by the heat of his body so close to mine and his strangely attractive anger. I know he won't hurt me. So his display is more thrilling than anything. And that does terrify my mind, though, because it is so unlike me to respond to such proclamations of bravado.

"No, I won't deny it," I whisper. "I'm honest with you, Jace. I always will be. And you have to trust me when I say we are just friends."

Jace's hand slams furiously into the wall beside my head, and it gives a little against the force of his hit, making me jump. "Trust you? Why the _hell_ should I trust _you_? I don't even know you! And sure as hell don't trust that little human rat. He's infatuated with you, Clary! I know you know—and don't play dumb like you don't. You can't pull that one off."

"Jace, I—"

"No, listen to me, Clary," he says hotly, his voice strained and barely contained from a shout. It makes his low words thrum, warning and anger etched into every syllable. "I want to make this very clear, so there is never any question as to how I feel about this. I don't want you spending time with Simon. You can waste away your hours with whoever else you want—male or female—but I will not tolerate you spending alone time with a man that has showed romantic interest in you."

"You are not my father—it's my decision to make," I say, and now my own voice simmers with restrained fury. "How dare you presume to tell me who to spend my time with."

"How dare you presume to feel you have a choice in the matter. I'm not kidding with you, Clary. I won't put up with it."

"I am not your property, Jace," I hiss.

His hand is suddenly in my hair, at the nape of my neck, jerking my head back a little roughly, his face right at mine as he shoots back, "No, you're my fucking _wife_. And as such, I should expect a certain degree of modesty from you. Not you enjoying leading a guy on like a fucking tease."

"And whom are you referring to now? Simon or yourself?" I demand.

"Keep pushing my buttons, Clary," he rasps harshly over my lips. "But if you play with fire, you get burned."

I don't pull away from him, from his hot lips or his anger or his warm, trembling body that is so close to mine. Instead, I just glare right back up at him and say, "Maybe I'm not afraid of fire."

Jace pulls back on my hair, making me wince just slightly, but the pain is not so horrible. It almost feels good, the possessive, rough way in which he's holding me—it feels good, even though I know it shouldn't. "Maybe you should be," he retorts, his lips right against mine.

I want him to kiss me now. I'm still furious and so is he, but I want this. I want to see what it will be like when we're angry. I can imagine it will be wonderful, quick and intense and bordering on that lovely line of unimaginable bliss and sweet agony.

I imagine him grabbing me now, pulling me against him, so I can feel how excited he is against me. I imagine his mouth crashing into mine, his teeth biting at my lips sharply, causing little points of pleasure to radiate down to where I'm already throbbing for him.

But none of this comes to fruition.

Instead, he lets go of me suddenly and harshly, pushing away from me. He glares at me for a few seconds before turning and leaving without another word, slamming the door behind us with finality.

* * *

"That bad, huh?"

I nod at Izzy, picking at the hem of my dress carefully. I have decided to come speak with her, only because Jace never came home last night after our argument. Honestly, I thought he would get over it rather quickly, but I realize now, after not seeing him all night or all day today that this is more serious than I thought.

I have to smooth things over between him for my plan. That's the logical reason for my asking advice from Izzy, but another reason, a reason that feels more real and I try not to think about, is that I don't want Jace to be angry with me.

"Well, I suggest you going to find him right now," she announces, rubbing her small belly calmly. "He'll be in the training center at this time during the day—doing his private work outs. It's on the 48th floor. Go see him. Apologize. Promise you won't see Simon anymore."

"But…I can't apologize. I didn't do anything. And Simon is a friend! I shouldn't have to give him up."

"No, you shouldn't. And you won't have to forever—just for now. Guys are possessive creatures, Clary—even the nicest of them are. Sebastian…he was very possessive. But it's only because they care. It's very strange sometimes and it's not very flattering how they present it, but it does mean they care."

"Or they are just control freaks," I mutter.

"It's not that with Jace. He's just…he's probably hurt, is all. He's really sensitive, Clary—more than you realize. It doesn't take much to set him off, as annoying as that can be sometimes. Just apologize for being with Simon so much, and tell him you'll cool it for a while. He'll be good with that. And maybe…maybe if you show him a little attention, too—well, that wouldn't hurt. If you know what I mean." She winks dramatically, which makes my eyes roll.

But despite Isabelle's theatrics and crudeness, some of her ideas are good, and begrudgingly, I say I'll think about it.

* * *

Two hours later, I'm in black, stretchy pants—actual pants—and a t-shirt as I go up the elevator.

I feel strange in such plain clothes, clothes so ill-befitting a woman, I think, but the elevator attendant doesn't seem to mind. In fact, I catch him more than once staring at my behind, which looks extra large thanks to the clinging material of the pants.

The boy's interest gives me hope, and I have the confidence to sashay into the training room a few moments later, searching for Jace.

I find him immediately. He's holding onto this bar above head and lifting himself up with one arm, effortlessly. He's already shed his shirt since he's so sweaty, so I can see the beautiful definition of his muscles tightening each pull up he makes. I'm struck motionless as I watch him because he's truly near perfection. Everything about him is delicious, from the way the sweat makes his golden skin glisten, to the way his sweat pants are hanging dangerously low, exposing the deep-cut V of his hipbones, to the way he's strong enough to pull his entire body upward with only one arm.

It's impressive to me.

But then I must make some sound because Jace's skirt over to me, hanging hesitantly at the entrance of the large, empty, padded room with multiple punching bags and speed bags dangling from the ceiling.

He drops down lightly, landing on his bare feet, before stealthily padding over to me. His eyes and hair and struck by the setting sunshine pouring in from the high-up windows in the training room, making him shimmer. "What are you doing here?"

I feel my mouth is dry, and my mind is empty. I quickly try to come up with some sort of response, but I can't. I just stare at him as he comes to stand directly in front of me, so close I can smell the sweat and the masculine spice of his body.

"Are you wearing pants?" he inquires, arching a brow as his eyes drift down, slowly moving over my very obvious curves that are on display by the tight outfit.

"Yes," I blurt, completely lacking the poise I usually hold.

He's still drinking in the sight of me, his eyes a little lusty, a half-cocked, barely-there smirk tilting his lips. And then he meets my gaze again, darkly. "Why?"

"I…I was hoping…I wanted to apologize," I manage to get out. And then I clear my throat, because my discomfort is obviously amusing him, and though I am glad he doesn't seem to still be particularly angry, I don't want him laughing at me, either. "I will cease seeing Simon if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," he says casually, backing up from me without ever loosing track of my eyes. "It just pisses me off."

I feel my expression tighten, feel my hips cock, my hands coming to rest on them as I arch a brow. "Well, I apologize, then, for upsetting your delicate emotional state."

Jace grins at this, another dark, dark, dark grin that makes my stomach quiver just slightly. "That's more like it. I was wondering when your sharp wit would make a reappearance." He tilts his head at me, halting his backwards progression for a moment. "Why are you really here, Clary, besides a half-assed apology? You wouldn't be wearing that just to apologize, though I'm certainly not complaining about it."

I glance down at myself before arching my brow at him again and pursing my lips. "I thought perhaps you could teach me a few things."

"Very interesting wording."

"_Fighting_ things," I correct, giving him a warning look. "I thought you could show me how to defend myself—or at least give me some pointers on things. I could maybe spend some more time with you that way." I smooth my hands over my shirt. "I know things aren't ideal, Jace. I realize that. But I think, perhaps, we could at least try to be cordial to each other, and to get to know each other."

He smirks as though I've said something very amusing but doesn't elaborate. Instead, he just nods and then jerks his chin at me. "Come here, then."

I want to hesitate, but I force myself forward, closer to Jace's dark, playful aura until I'm standing right in front of him, too close, really.

His hands fall against the tops of my arms, holding me there, and he's looking down at me, his lips still curved just slightly. "Are you sure you want me teaching you how to fight? I can play rough sometimes."

I give him just a small smirk, but my heart is hammering like there is no tomorrow deep within my chest, making my whole body vibrate with each pulse. I lean up on my tiptoes, putting our lips very close together—but not touching—as I whisper, parroting his old words back to him, "I can handle you."

Jace's eyes spark, burning hotly, and he leans into me, kissing me just lightly before I pull away and raise my eyebrows. "No, no. You're to teach me how to fight, remember?"

He sighs heavily. "All right." He takes a step back from me, and then motions. "Punch me."

Shock flashes across my face in betrayal. "Punch you?"

"Yeah. I want to see how you throw a punch."

I roll my shoulders back, preparing. I've never punched anyone before. I've hit a few people with a baseball bat and kicked some boys on the playground as a child, but I have never, ever thrown a punch.

I do the best I can, though, and start in on Jace.

But he catches my fist before it can make purchase on his stomach. I look at him in confusion, but he just shakes his head and gently repositions my fingers.

"Never punch with your thumb inside your fist, Clary. It'll break first thing. Always have it out." Then he slides around me, where he is behind me, and he's pulling me against him, his hand running down the length of my arm. "When you throw a punch," he says quietly in my ear, giving me goosebumps despite myself, "use your whole body for a power source. Lean back like this," he pauses to demonstrate, pulling me the proper way, "and then lean extend your arm out, putting a little twist on it." He helps me do it. And he does it with me twice more until he comes out in front of me so that I can practice on him.

I throw it like he has taught me, and my fist makes a satisfying smack against his hard stomach but when I see his face doesn't change much, I'm convinced I've hurt myself more than him.

I don't rub my sore knuckles, though. I won't give him the satisfaction.

He shrugs, tilting his head back and forth in thought. "Not bad. You're pretty strong."

I glare.

And then his leg is swept out, and I'm flying backwards, landing on one of the mats beneath me, with Jace on top of me in a blink, holding me down.

He grins delightedly. "But not very fast."

I make a sound of protest, but he's continuing.

"We obviously need to work on your take-down defense," he confides, nodding a few times.

"I didn't know you were taking me down, so of course I couldn't defend it!" I scoff, completely enraged.

"That's the whole point, Clary. Expect the unexpected. Haven't you heard that before?"

"Only a thousand times."

"Well, I would have thought you would have taken it to heart by now."

"Jace, get off," I insist.

"Oh, so now, when you're getting your ass handed to you, you don't want to learn anything?" he inquires, making a curious expression at me.

I jerk my knee up suddenly, between his legs, acting as if I'm going to catch him right where it hurts a boy the most, and his whole body tenses and he huffs—but I don't hit him.

And then I smirk up at him, and he exhales a laugh back down at me, his body relaxing slightly.

That's when I punch him—right in the side—hard enough that he grunts softly, and I'm able to roll, flipping him beneath me with myself towering over the top of him, holding his arms out above his head.

I smile victoriously, and he smiles back, just for a moment, before it gets serious. And then he's really grappling—or so he calls it—with me. We're constantly moving, and Jace is constantly getting the best of me when he's actually trying. But he turns out to be a surprisingly good teacher, telling me each time where I've messed up and why he's gotten the upper hand.

After an hour or so, though, we've both worked up a sweat, and the continual press and twist of our bodies against each other has made the air tense and thick with want.

I first realize the lust that has slipped upon us when Jace has me pinned beneath him, my stomach and face against the mat, with his body behind mine, and my arms pinned out by his to the sides of us. And then I feel him nuzzling away the hair at the nape of my sweaty neck, feel his lips press just slightly against my damp skin, and I'm so aroused at this point that I groan at such a simple touch.

Jace is suddenly pressing down on me, and I feel him—hard and long—against the thin, tight material of my pants. Immediately, my body reacts, rocking back up into him instinctually, which makes us both groan.

"Fuck, Clary," he whispers.

I squirm against him, arching up into his hard body, shuddering slightly, feeling that void within me, where he should be right now, filling me. "Jace," I plead softly, trying to pull my hands out from his hold.

He flips me so that I am on my back, and he is above me, between my spreading legs, but his hands keep a hold on my wrists, pinning them overhead. His lips crash into mine, hot and intense and needy, and my legs are wrapping around his waist, bringing him close so that I can feel him where he needs to be. His hips roll into me, making me gasp softly against his mouth.

Then everything is happening too quickly for me to truly keep up. My shirt is being removed, along with my bra, and then my panties and pants are yanked down off my legs in the same motion. I'm pushing at the tops of Jace's pants and boxers with my feet, drawing them down just enough so that he can finally, _finally_, begin pushing inside me.

He tries to go slow, at first, but I'm wrapping my legs around him again, lifting my hips up so that he is sheathed inside me completely and then all pretenses of a languid pace are gone, and he's pounding into me, his hands everywhere, along with his lips.

I'm vaguely aware that we are in a training room, that someone could walk in at any moment, but at this point—I don't care. Jace and the delicious, dirty things he is doing to me is all that matters.

"Shit, Clary, I've wanted to do this to you all fucking night," he whispers harshly into my ear, his hips grinding against mine as I buck wildly against him. "So damn sexy…" he is groaning, almost unintelligibly. "_Shit fucking damn_."

I laugh breathlessly at his last comment, but the motion just vibrates down my body, to the place where we are connected, and then we're both groaning and I'm gripping his shoulders so tightly that I'm breaking the skin.

"We need…need to slow down," Jace pants lightly against my ear, and then he _is_ slowing down, his length moving in and out of me at a tortuously sluggish pace.

"No, Jace," I whine, bucking my hips against his as quickly as I can, but our rhythm is off and it isn't as good. "Jace, please. I don't want to go slow."

"Well, _I_ do," he insists stubbornly.

"Jace," I groan, raking my nails down his back, hoping this will make his resolve crumple. But all it does his make him still completely for a moment and growl into my neck, against my pounding pulse. "Jace, _please_. Please go faster…"

"You wanna go faster?" he inquires, biting my earlobe.

I gasp, and I feel my stomach get hotter, feel my inner muscles contract against his steel-like length a bit. "Y-yes."

Then, instead of doing what I expect him to, he's rolling us over so that he lies beneath me, and I'm straddling him.

I gasp, my hands falling to the floor on either side of his head, my hair hanging around us, hiding us, as his hot and lusty, heavy-lidded eyes stare up at me. "Jace…"

"Move, Clary. Go as fast you want," he urges, smoothing his hands down my back, over my sides, to my hips, my backside.

I groan and feel myself clench around him, my body begging me to do something, but this is strange, with me being on top, with him just lying beneath me, still except the quick contracting of his stomach as he breathes.

"Jace, I—"

He grips my hips tightly, lifting me up over his length before letting me drop back down sharply just as he rolls his hips upwards, meeting me.

Both of us groan, and then I'm moving by myself because my body has taken over. I'm moving over him roughly, quickly, loving the way he's sliding into me effortlessly now, filling me.

Jace's hands clench around my hips occasionally, a low growl rumbling in his chest as I move, and then I'm looking between us, down, so that I can see us, the way my body stretches to take him in, and it's such an erotic sight that I'm on the brink now, ready to tip over and feel that lovely bliss.

"Do you like watching us?" he inquires.

I nod once, my eyes still fastened to the place we are connecting.

"That's so fucking sexy," he manages to moan as I go harder against him, bouncing over him, my body wild and hungry, desperate to go where I know he can bring me. I buck against him feverishly and he meets each of my movements perfectly, and then I'm shuddering, my body rocked, and I feel my walls clamp down on him painfully tight, and I'm crying out at the feel of him, so, so hard inside me.

Then the world's tilted, and I'm on my back and he's slamming into me harder than ever before, even as I still spasm around him. I might screaming now, I'm not sure, and he's squeezing my breasts and sucking on my neck sharply, and I can't stand it and I'm exploding again, pulling him in so deep, just in time for his release to hit, and I'm flooded with warmth inside.

For a long time, we just press and push against each other, riding out our pleasure, and the pulses within me continue on and on until I'm floating in another world, just barely aware of anything but Jace and how deliciously heavy he is when he's collapsing on top of me.

And then, finally, we're still.

* * *

**I know I said there wouldn't be another sex scene for a while...but I lied, I guess. Once again, it wasn't a lie when I was saying it. The next chapter, there will be some time elapsed-a few months. Just to let y'all know! (:**


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Oh, y'all. I am so sorry. I've been so busy. And I've lost so much inspiration for this story. I know how it ends now, and I know a lot of things leading up to the end, but the in-between stuff is killing me. But I will press on. Also, on a side note, I will be starting a new story (one that won't get updated that often compared to this one, so don't worry, it won't take up all my time). This story is a post-apocalyptic, war, wasteland kind of thing. So if that's up your alley, check it out. It'll be up tonight or tomorrow-so keep a lookout if ya wanna. (: Also, I'll be taking Imprints and Tomorrow's A Mystery down today. Sorry. I just see myself finishing either of those any time soon, and my new story (which is called _A Better Life_) incorporates a lot of Tomorrow's A Mystery things into it so I can't justify having them both, even though they ARE different.**

**Anyway, please forgive me for my lack of updates. I have no forsaken, y'all! AH! Enjoy this (:**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three

**One Month Later**

After the training room incident, I insisted we be together only within the privacy of the apartment. So, at first, we only did this at nights, when we were both in bed. Then, during the day sometimes, when we would both be in the penthouse at the same time, when our paths would cross, we might get into a little argument and the next thing I knew, I was being shoved up against the wall or laid over the coffee table.

It progressed from there on.

A touch here or there in public, and Jace was pulling me away to a secluded but not totally inaccessible place.

It's disturbing how easily I've let myself give into this. I've just never experienced anything quite so wonderful—or addictive—in all my life. I justify my actions by saying that this is what is expected of me anyway, as a wife—that I'm playing the role I need to in order to accomplish my mission. But in reality, I look forward to the moments, to stolen, hot kisses and quick, rough displays of passion throughout the day.

I like when I can make Jace angry, angry enough to start tearing my clothes off and kissing me because even though, in a way, I have instigated it, I can tell myself that it's not me that wants this—it's him—so I might as well enjoy it.

And I know what I want now, and Jace always gives it to me. I know what he wants now, too, which in turn makes it just as delicious for him as it is for me.

This is a partnership, I've quickly found out. We work in harmony together to both feel otherworldly. It's the only time Jace and I ever seem to really be on the same page, wanting the same thing. It's strange, and I know I shouldn't like this but I do.

I smooth down my skirt where Jace had so hastily hiked it up, and I try in vain to untangle the knots in my hair as I peep over at him. He's fastening his pants back up, and he catches me looking and gives me this small little grin that makes my heart clench—such an annoying reaction I've been having lately.

"We aren't doing that again," I say, looking down as I try to fix my shirt. The buttons of the white blouse have been carelessly torn open, and I just hope none of the buttons were actually ripped off in Jace's fervor. "Not here."

"All right," he says, but I know he doesn't really believe me.

I don't believe myself as I glance around the deserted stairwell—a stairwell that _anyone_ could walk in on, at any moment.

I sigh slightly.

"Where are you going after this?" Jace inquires, done straightening his clothes and leaning into me, his lips warm at my ear.

I pull away from him delicately. "To have lunch with your mother—of all things."

Jace just grins softly as his hands move down and cover mine as they try to refasten my shirt's buttons. He kisses me once, twice, and I feel his hands moving. I think at first he's helping me get dressed again, but a moment later, when I feel his warm fingers sliding over my stomach, I make a small sound of protest and pull away, giving him a look.

"You're supposed to be helping me button-up, not _un_button," I mutter, looking down and finishing the job for myself. "I only have five minutes before I have to be in the dining room."

"That's enough time."

I glare up at him, and he laughs, a surprisingly light and boyish sound. "You're pitiful," I announce and squat down to retrieve one of my high-heels, which fell off when Jace was pressing me back against the wall and I was lifting my legs, wrapping them around him.

I'm readying myself to stand back up when I feel Jace's hand brush gently over the top of my head, down my cheek so tenderly that I glance up at him, still crouched on the ground.

He's looking down at me, his brows furrowed just slightly in some sort of confusion, but then we both seem to notice where I am, kneeling before him, and this strange look passes over Jace's face quickly.

His hand moves over my cheek, cupping it carefully, and then his thumb his dragging across my bottom lip so I kiss it—very deliberately. I grab his wrist, pulling his hand towards my mouth, pressing a soft little wet kiss to each fingertip all the while looking up at Jace, at the darkness of his face, feeling my heart pound, wondering what I'm doing.

I'm a little mesmorised by his eyes because they are so smoldering now and filled with thoughts that I can almost hear—dirty thoughts that make my heart pump even harder, make my mind wander, make me just slightly smug because for once, I'm completely in control of the situation. Or at least, mostly in control.

So I take his index finger into my mouth carefully, sucking just lightly because I read this in one of those ridiculous books once and now seems the proper time to use the technique, even though when I first read it, I thought it disgusting.

Now, it doesn't seem so repulsive—especially when I see Jace's face tighten, hear him groan out this little curse.

His free hand goes to the fly of his pants, and I'm suddenly a little nervous because I really have no clue what I'm doing, but it doesn't matter in the end.

A loud clang from the landing above us snap both of us out of our haze, and Jace is grabbing my arm, lifting me up into a standing position just as Mr. Lamb lopes down the steps and finds us.

His eyes widen, a smile blooming across his face. "Ah! Mr. and Mrs. Wayland! I didn't expect to see you two here. Is something wrong with the elevator?"

My mouth is dry, my heart hammering for an entirely different reason now, and I'm consumed with the fear of Mr. Lamb knowing what we've been up to. I'm terrified—horrified. I can't breathe because of it.

So it's left to Jace to manage a forced, but surprisingly calm, "We thought we'd take the stairs today—good excerise." I feel his eyes flickering over to mine, and I know he's ready to share one of those secret grins with me that he likes to do at dinners with others when he's mentioned something that only I will understand. I usually pinch his leg under the table, but now, I don't have the wits to do anything but stare at the floor with flaming red cheeks.

"Oh, I see." Mr. Lamb doesn't sound one bit supscious, but perhaps he's just trying to ignore the signs. I would, if I were him. "Mr. Wayland, your father actually asked for you. I was going to the training rooms to look for you just now. How's that for good timing?"

"_Impeccable _timing, Mr. Lamb," Jace says, his voice chock full of sarcasm that only I will understand. Jace brushes my arm and says, "I'll see you later, honey."

I nod just slightly because I still don't trust myself to speak. I've made a complete fool of myself, of course—acting so submissively and seductively. I can't bear to think what Jace will expect when we lay down tonight.

"Lead on, Mr. Lamb," Jace announces, and then they are both going back up the steps. I hear them walking upwards, on and on until finally, the door so many flights above me is opening and closing.

I sigh in relief, sagging against the wall.

I try to collect myself for a moment, and then I begin walking down the rest of the steps. It's a long way down to the dinning room, but I find the probability of running into someone while my cheeks are still flushed and my mind still whirling from Jace and myself's activities earlier considerably less. It also gives me time to compose myself before having lunch with Celine.

When I'm finally on the right level, I drift out from the stairwell, down the calm, empty halls. Before I get to the bustling dinning room, however, I pause and go towards the women's bathroom, thinking it might be best to splash my face with some cold water—but I come up short when I hear voices inside.

Celine's voice.

I peep into the bathroom through the small crack in the door, and see her and Samuel standing there. She's dropped her voice into an unintelligible whisper now, and she's shaking her head violently. Then Samuel is reaching out for her, as if she's a frightened animal, talking to her in slow words that I can't make out. But she still shakes her head.

And then I hear her last few statements as her voice rises with anxiety. "I _can't_! You know I can't, Samuel. I can't believe you'd ask such a thing. You promised you never would."

"Celine, we don't have many options left," I barely hear Samuel shoot back.

"It's not an option," she insists. Then she smoothes her hands down her dress and blinks rapidly. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to go eat with Clary. She's probably already waiting."

So I quickly steal away, running down into the dinning hall and taking a seat, silently pondering as I wait for her and then pretending that everything is normal when she finally appears.

* * *

**Hm. So. What do y'all think about this short but VERY IMPORTANT development? Let me know theories, please! (:**


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's Note: So overwhelmed/thrilled/freakin' amazed at all y'all's support and love. Y'all are seriously AMAZING. AH! I wanted to just get that out there, as if y'all didn't already know.**

**Anyway, here's the only chapter I'm posting tonight. Going to go down to one update a day, if that. I'm sorry, but it's just gonna have to be that way for a while. I'm just freaking overwhelmed right now (in a good way, lots of great things happening right now, I'm so blessed). So yeah. I will also be starting a new story as well, but even though I think I told y'all I'd post it last night or today, I think I'll wait until tomorrow actually. Just gotta get everything right on that first chapter because first chapters set the tone of everything! **

**So enjoy y'all! (:**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four

After a fairly uneventful dinner with Celine, I go back to the apartment and watch the sun set through the window. After a few hours, when I'm forced to turn on the lights to see how to paint, when the sky outside is dark and cool, I hear Jace come in.

I'm pondering over Celine and Samuel's conversation, trying to figure out all possible meanings, so I pay no attention to Jace's presence—until he walks up behind me and rests his hands on my hips, peeping over my shoulder at the canvas I've splashed with bright color.

He's quiet for a long time, searching out the painting, the oak tree I've created with sunbeams streaking through its watery, soft green leaves. "Have you seen this tree before?" Jace inquires, subdued. "Or did you make it up."

"There was a tree in my old courtyard at my grade school," I tell him. "But it was rather pathetic—very scrawny. I still liked it, though. There aren't many tress, unless you go to the park—and Mother never took me to the park when I was too young to go on my own. So this is taken from the tree at school, but I…embellished a few aspects of it."

"It's surprinsingly cheerful," Jace remarks.

I eye the thing I've created carefully. I suppose it does look cheerful—it's simply so bright. But the tree, though strong and bathed in golden sunlight, is alone. I plan on filling in the background with an empty, grassy field—no other trees around.

"But kind of lonely at the same time," Jace adds in a whisper, as if he's reading my mind—which takes me off guard.

"I…I suppose so." I clear my throat once, and then, add lightly, "Did you expect my things to be all icicles and snowflakes and depressing symbols?"

Jace laughs once, warmly against my ear and neck, giving me goosebumps. "No. I know you're not as cold as you put off. There's some warmth under all those cool expressions."

"Oh, you think?" I ask a little teasingly, but something about what he says frightens me.

"I know," he corrects lightly before pressing a hot kiss to my neck. Then another, and another, down the trail of my pulse, which is rapidly picking up its pace the more he touches. Touches with very obvious intents, kisses that are hot and lingering and suggestive. I feel the shift in him, the want. I shiver slightly, feeling my own desire ignite shamelessly.

So I pull away from him just slightly. "No, no," I say, trying to remove his arms from around my waist, but he just moves them, his hands going to grip my hips again and squeeze. "You've already had me once today."

"Well, I want you again." He yanks me back roughly against him, making me gasp in pleasure and shock, and his hands are gripping me in that wonderfully painful way. Then his lips are at my ear, hot and scorching and delicious. "I can't get enough of you."

I feel the warmth of flattery touch my chest and cheeks as the hot fire of lust stirs delightfully in my stomach. I swallow to keep my voice coming out even. "I'm not here just to serve your sexual needs, darling. I'm painting right now, and you're distracting me."

"_My_ sexual needs? I seem to recall quite a few instances where your sexual needs were the ones that started something."

"Well, that isn't the case tonight, is it?" I'm trying to keep the little laugh out of my voice because I like this. I like teasing him. He always gets so easily flustered. "I'm _painting_."

He groans once against me neck. "You drive me fucking crazy."

"So you've said a few times now," I murmur, trying to pull away from him. But he won't let me. His hands slide over my hips, up my sides slowly, ghosting over the sides of my breast teasingly before he's squeezing them, roughly and suddenly, which makes my stomach clench, makes me go rigid, makes me lean back into him where I can feel his arousal pressing into me.

It's a vicious cycle. He desires me, and when I know this, when I _feel_ this, it makes me desire him. And then it's back and forth, back and forth until neither of us can stand it any longer and we give in gloriously.

But tonight, I'm refusing to give in just yet. "I'm not in the mood, Jace."

His hands run down my stomach, not pausing to go further, to slip under the hem of my skirt and between my legs. He cups me abruptly, and a rush of heat runs through me, pooling between my legs, where his fingers can feel through the cotton of my panties.

"Not in the mood?" he inquires, a little too smugly for my liking, so I put my desirous thoughts away long enough to send a sharp elbow back, slamming into his stomach.

He grunts, caught off guard, and he quickly retracts his hand to double over slightly behind me. "Damn," he hisses, and when I turn to face him, he's glaring up at me, but not only with anger—with a spark of attraction, as well, because he likes this. He likes fighting.

We stare at each other for a long time, wondering what the other will do, waiting for a move to be made. I arch an eyebrow at him playfully, so he straightens and advances on me, this devious look in his eyes, one that makes me back up quickly.

I hold my hands out rather helplessly because I know he can take me to the ground easily and I know that's what he wants—a wrestling match that will inevitably turn into sex because neither of us can touch each other long without stirring some sort of desire.

Abel suddenly appears, meowing loudly at the sight of our standoff, looking between us curiously, his little tail flickering.

We both ignore him.

But we can't ignore the knocking on the door—loud and quick.

Jace still tries, however. "Let them just go away."

"Jace, it could be important."

"Or it could be Izzy being annoying. Just let them knock," he whispers, so our visitor will not overhear.

I roll my eyes and begin walking towards the door. I throw it open and find Samuel there, with his deceptively happy smile.

"Good evening, Miss Clary. How are you tonight?" he inquires, beaming.

"Good. Thank you," I reply politely, trying not to let show my suspicion of him. "And you?"

"I'm wonderful. Is Jace home?"

I nod, opening the door fully and stepping aside so that Samuel can see Jace, who is now crouching on the floor, attending to Abel.

"Jace, how'd you like to spar a little with me?" Samuel asks cheerily.

Jace glances back at him and smiles, a genuine smile. A loving smile—one he usually reserves for his mother, and I feel a slight pang that he doesn't have a similar smile for his own father. And then I wonder if I have that smile for my mother. Have I even smiled at her in last year or so? I can't remember.

"Sure," Jace says, hopping up. "I'll go put some training clothes on." He darts into our bedroom, closing the door behind him, so I'm forced to ask Samuel in while he waits.

We both sit, me on the couch and Samuel in the chair.

He eyes my painting and nods towards it. "This is yours?"

I nod once. "How'd you know?"

"Jace is terrible at art—couldn't ever even draw a straight line," he says with a fond little chuckle.

"You're very close, hm?" I say slowly.

"I'd like to think so—as close as anyone can be to Jace. He's a hard guy to get close to, I'd say. It's because…because of my brother, I'm afraid. But I like to be there for Jace the way his father isn't. Every kid deserves someone loving in their life."

I smile with no real emotion behind it, a mask set on my face. "Yes, that's true. And Celine? Are you close with her?" I inquire, rather brazenly but I'm aware of what I need to know, what information I need. I can't tip-toe around this situation. I'll never know unless I push, unless I ask.

Samuel's face immediately changes, a subtle change, but I've been taught how to see these things. "I…yes. Once again—as close as one can be to Celine."

"She doesn't seem very hard to get to know," I counter.

"She's an usual case, as you know."

"Hm." I tilt my head. "She seems to think quite fondly of you," I fib.

Samuel's brows arch. "Oh, really? Well, I've known her, her whole life—I'm only a few years older than her. And she's been a friend for years, especially after she married Valentine and became part of our family."

I nod. "I see. It's only natural you would all become close. Except that you don't seem very close to your own brother—your blood, fully." I frown a little for effect. "Any particular reason?"

Samuel's smile is long gone by now, but he's not hostile yet. "Valentine is a difficult man. You've seen this already, I'm sure."

"Have you never gotten along with him?"

"I wouldn't say that I don't get _along_ with him—it's just…well, he's very difficult."

"Yes, you said so," I murmur coolly, smiling once.

Samuel's eyes narrow, and we just stare at each other for a long, tense moment, both of us filled with questions unasked, but then Jace reappears wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt, running his hands through his hair.

"Let's go," he says to Samuel.

Samuel's happy façade is back in place immediately. "Yes, of course! I shall see you later, Miss Clary." He gives me a tight smile that Jace won't notice and then drifts away, giving Jace and I the privacy to say goodbye.

I stand up and he leans down to kiss me once.

"I'll be back later," he says quietly, against my ear, so Samuel doesn't hear the sentence loaded with enough innuendo to make me shiver.

"Don't tire yourself out with training," I reply, which makes him jerk back from me in surprise of my forwardness.

His eyes darken for a moment before he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head and quickly leaving, making me smile just a bit after him.

Then I look over at Abel, pondering Samuel and this new situation, and I ask, "What do you think, Abel?"

He just meows and gives me no help.

* * *

**So Abel is obviously just something cute to look at. And does this clear anything up about Samuel? Yes? No? Maybe? Did it make it worse? Anyway, lots of y'all are saying Clary is pregnant and such-SHE'S ON THE PILL, Y'ALL. The futuristic, super pill that I made up that has no chance of pregnancy. It really works. I hate to burst anyone's bubble. (:**


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: Hey, y'all! (: I'm inspired greatly today, so I'll probably give TWO updates today! YAY! And as for my other story, the one I haven't posted yet, yeah...That's gonna be a while aways now. Not that many of you probably care right now...but yeah! Just in case y'all were wondering! ENJOY and please review. As if I have to remind y'all. I mean...585 reviews? In like the 3-4 weeks it's been published? REALLY?! Y'all are flipping fantastic. I'm thrilled, by the way, by all the new faces I'm seeing in the review list! I love that everyone is contributing. I seriously LOVE to know what y'all are thinking. So this is pointed at the people that are reading but not reviewing. If you don't want it to be public, just private message me, please! I LOVE to know how y'all feel on things! (:  
**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

I slowly press my lips to his trembling stomach, trailing upwards. His skin is so warm and golden and smooth, stretched over such hard muscle. I love kissing his abdominal muscles, just brushing my lips softly, so that I can feel him tense and shudder as he's doing now.

"Clary," he groans tiredly, running his hands over my back, across my hair gently. He guides me upwards until we are kissing again, languidly now that we've both had our fill, and then I roll off of him, collapsing beside him and trying to regain my breath.

My body is warm and heavy and satisfied but still a bit shaky as I try to find some control over my body again. This is so unlike what I thought it'd be. I thought it'd be a chore, something I despised and received no pleasure from, but it's exactly to opposite.

It's addictive.

I feel Jace shift next to me, feel his head drop to the side, towards me. "Clary?"

I turn my own head, and our noses brush. He's still breathing a little hard, and I smile, pleased. I usually dislike being on top. I'm not comfortable with it, but tonight, after waiting the four hours him and Samuel were gone, after thinking of him, of what we had started before he was leaving, I was insatiable, and I finally abandoned all pretenses and modesty.

It's obviously left him as sated as myself, and I'm surprisingly proud. I like to see him loose control along with me. It makes me feel less vulnerable.

"Yes?" I ask.

He rolls onto his side, his hand moving out to brush over my shoulder gently. He watches his fingers' progress as they trail towards my neck, raising goosebumps. "Do you like music?"

I feel my eyebrows arch slightly, a startled little laugh bursting forth from my lungs. "Yes…" The question takes me off-guard, of course—makes me nervous and strangely hesitant, so my words come out awkwardly when I reply with, "Do…you?"

Jace smirks quietly, and his eyes flicker up to meet mine from underneath his lashes. "Yes."

"You said you play the piano."

"Yes," he repeats. "But not beautifully. I play it more…mechanically. I know the notes and keys, but I don't know…creativity, much." He's drawing little circles against my shoulder, and such a light, innocent little touch has my stomach heating again in desire. "Do you play anything?"

"No. I just paint," I murmur, subdued.

"I like the things you paint," he says, his eyes flickering down to his tracing fingertip on my skin. "You're very talented." He says this surpisingly earnestly, but then his eyes move to meet mine again as he adds, playfully, "In more ways than one."

I blush and smile and roll my eyes slightly, but I am flattered.

Then I feel him pressing a kiss to my temple. It's gentle and sweet, unlike any kiss he's given me before in the way that I can feel it's not a precursor to sex. It's just a kiss. But there's no reason to kiss me unless he wants sex, so it throws me off. And then he does it again, feathering his lips warmly over my cheekbone, making me shiver slightly.

I don't like this. These strange, careful touches. They make me nervous, so I pull away from him slightly. "What are you doing?"

Jace's brow furrows just slightly as he looks down on me, as if he's trying to put some piece of the puzzle together but it is failing, horribly stumped. His eyes bore into mine, too intense and searching.

So I reach up for him, weaving my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him down towards me, pressing my lips against his. He kisses me back, but it's a slow, almost tentative kiss, gentle like his touches, so I nip at his bottom lip, trying to get a reaction out of him, trying to spark that lust so he starts kissing me like I'm used to—hungry for desire to be filled, lusty and hot.

But he doesn't.

He just groans softly and shifts so he's on top of me, and I'm spreading my legs submissively beneath him, lifting my hips slightly so I can feel him, and I'm relieved to find him hard again. Maybe he does just want sex again. But it doesn't feel like it.

"Jace," I groan when he pulls his mouth from mine, only to trail his lips slowly over my chin, down my throat, to my collarbones and then lower, to my breasts. He kisses my erect pink nipples softly, making fire rip through my stomach, making me shift beneath him, lift towards him again, but he retreats, refusing to go inside me yet.

"Jace," I say again, and then he's taking one of my nipples into his mouth, making me quake.

After this, his kisses become stronger, hot and wet against my breasts and my stomach and my arms and shoulders and neck. But they are still slow and lingering, and the heat inside me is building, driving me crazy, because this is the slowest he's ever gone with me. Usually, despite his best intentions at the start, he winds up pounding into me, bringing us both to the brink in no time, to satisfy us swiftly.

This is new, and I definitely don't like it but my body does.

I'm arching against him, rolling my hips searchingly, moaning under my breath, my arms reaching above me to grasp the headboard. My eyes slip close, and I only feel his touches and kisses, his gentle little bites that make my own voice echo in my ears.

And then, without any teasing, he's inside me, slipping in easily after our last hour of activity, and I'm already squeezing him, gasping softly and bucking up into him slowly.

But he's not thrusting. He's only burying himself deep inside and holding himself there, shuddering slightly as I clench against him. "Clary," he moans, almost tortured sounding against my neck, where he presses his forehead and breathes roughly over my skin. "You feel so good."

His words, the feeling of how hard he is within me, how full he makes me feel—that's enough. He doesn't need to move, but I'm still surprised when my orgasm shakes through me, making me clamp down on him as I arch up against him, feeling his warm, hard chest against the softness of my breasts, feeling him fist the sheets beside my head as he cries out softly into the chamber of my neck and shoulder.

From there on, the hours and minutes blur together until I'm unable to distinguish them, until I don't know how long has passed nor do I care.

It's so odd, how drawn out everything is. There's no frantic searching for relief, just nice and easy, and though it's not what I'm used to, the pleasure is still there, making my head heavy and satisfying me completely.

* * *

The next morning, I'm horribly sore—almost more so than the first time we were together. It's because he was inside me for so long, making me explode around him again and again, until I was aching and tender, and yet he still kept on. For hours.

When I wake, I glance over at him. He's sleeping soundly, peacefully, spread out over the bed, the sheets barely covering him, his head turned away from me with his hair messy. I take in the sight of him in the soft morning sun, and I feel slightly unsettled by last night's events.

So I slip out of the bed quietly and take my shower and get dressed, walking gingerly as I go.

I steal away from our apartment before he wakes.

"I thought Samuel wasn't staying here long," I say to Izzy, conversationally, as we look through baby clothes at a fancy little dress shop outside the Wanderer, a few blocks away.

Izzy shrugs. "He usually doesn't. But I think he's worried about Aunt Celine. She's been worse lately, as you know."

My face remains smooth as I murmur, "He's very protective of Celine, isn't he?"

"Yes, I suppose. They are pretty close," Izzy replies.

I see my chance, so I take it—putting a childish, gossipy spin on it. "_How_ close?"

"Like an affair?" she squeaks, her eyes going wide as she glances over at me. She shakes her head firmly. "Oh, no—not _that_ close. I know for sure Aunt Celine would never cheat on Valentine. She's been to hurt by his infidelities to do the same to him. Aunt Celine's very moral—one of the most moral persons I've ever met. She'd never." Izzy nods a few times. "Yeah, her and Uncle Samuel are close—but more like a brother-sister relationship. They were best friends as children. Everyone always loved and babied Aunt Celine—he was no different."

"Why didn't they marry, then, if they were close?" I inquire.

"They didn't love each other like that," Izzy announces. "Aunt Celine and Valentine did—at one point in time, at least. That's why they got married."

I chew this over for a moment. "Oh. I see."

"Yeah." Izzy nods again and then holds up a blue onsie. "What do you think?"

"What if its not a boy?" I reply.

"It's a boy."

"How do you know?" I inquire calmly, arching a brow and trying to repress a smile.

"Because I can't have a girl," she responds, completely seirous.

"There's a fifty percent chance you will." I put my hands on my hips.

"No, you don't understand. I _can't_ have a girl." Izzy looks slightly pained, highly panicked. "I don't know how to act like a girl myself, and I've never even had a girl in my life besides you and Aunt Celine—and Aunt Celine's nuts. I don't know how to raise a girl, Clary. I don't know how to raise a kid, period. At least with a boy, I'll have a fighting chance."

I want to laugh, but there's a genuine note of horror in her voice that makes me refrain. Instead, I drift over to her and put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Isabelle, you are going to be a fine mother—either way. Just be _there_ for the child, and you can't go wrong. Just make sure he—or she—knows you love them. The rest will come naturally, I'm sure."

"How do you know?" she asks miserably.

"I just do. If you're not, I'll tell you you're a horrible mother, and we can work on it." I give her just the hint of a smile. "But I'm sure that won't happen."

Her hand comes up to cover mine gratefully. "Thanks, Clary."

"Of course." I let go of her and walk back over to the hanging baby clothes, sorting through all the ruffles and tiny outfits.

And Isabelle is quiet for a few moments. But then she blurts out, "Are you pregnant yet?"

"What?" I ask sharply, looking over at her.

"Well, I mean, you and Jace are having sex. And I'm pretty sure you do it often."

"Isabelle!"

"Well, I'm just being honest. I know how Jace is, and from our conversations, you seem to like it…so…" She shrugs. "It's okay, Clary. Most newlyweds to have sex a lot…Sebastian and I did." Her face tightens for only a moment, her lips disappearing, but then she clears her throat and pushes on. "So you'll probably get pregnant soon."

_I doubt it_, I think, remembering my lunch date with my mother tomorrow, so that I can take the next dose of my birth control, but aloud, I say, "I don't think so."

"Are you using protection or something?" she demands, her eyebrows arching. "'Cause if so, Valentine will blow up."

"No, we aren't…we aren't using anything," I say, blinking rapidly.

"Then maybe you'll get pregnant soon, too, and our kids can be the same age and be friends and stuff." Izzy smiles proudly. "Wouldn't that be great?"

My stomach rolls but I force a smile nonetheless. "Yeah. Fantastic."

* * *

**I mean, y'all are surprising me by all the I WANT A CLACE BABY! Wow you guys. WOW! I mean, that would be nice, but I don't know 'bout all that. SHE'S ON THE PILL! Oh, and btw I reread some chapter and saw a major plot point mistake. I mentioned Alec was still alive in like chapter 6 or 7. IGNORE! That was a mistake. Ooops. Hope that clears that up for anyone. I'm not going to respond to reviews right now because I'm running late for something, but in a while, I will. So I'm not ignoring anyone! BYE!**


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: OKAY. Honesty time. I wasn't going to say anything until it happened, but due to the overwhelming chatter about it, I feel as though I have to confront it: the baby. **

**Will Jace and Clary have a baby? YES. Now, before those against it totally freak out, I have to say that THIS HAS BEEN PART OF MY PLAN SINCE THE VERY BEGINNING OF THE STORY. I know a lot of you fear that I will put a baby in the story because a lot of people have been asking for it. The answer to that is a BIG FAT NO. I don't put things into a story that people want. I put what I originally planned. Now, if someone asks me to answer a certain question and I see that fit, I'll try to answer it. But as far as major plot points, I don't take suggestions.**

**Seriously, the baby has been part of the plot from the beginning. Will it be a major influence on the story? Sorta. When will it come about? Near the end. That shows you right there that the baby itself isn't that important to the story. However, when the baby is conceived, it's a very big plot point and it means A TON. It advances a certain relationship. Actually it advances MANY relationships. The idea of the baby is what is important, not the actual kid. The kid won't even be around that much. After it's born, the story will almost be over. **

**BUT. For this story to progress, the baby's conception is necessary.**

**For those that are concerned about Clary's age, she'll be older when she gets pregnant. Not much older, but older nonetheless. And keep in mind that this is a society that differs from ours quite a bit. It's very commonplace for a woman to get married and pregnant young in the Guardianship because of the short life-expectancy. Because of the short life-expectancy, a 16/17 year old in this time is more like a 24-30 year old in maturity-not a teeny bopper. **

**Anyway, I hate to give y'all this major spoiler so soon, but as I said, I feel it necessary. I want to assure y'all that it's important to the story. I also hate that I can't tell y'all more about it. If I do, I'm going to start giving away things that y'all definitely DON'T need to know yet. So the bottom line is...PLEASE TRUST ME!(: It's not going to be a typical pregnant fic because I really don't like those, and I've never had a kid so I'm not going to focus heavily on morning sickness, the way it feels to be pregnant, yada, yada, yada. This needs to happen, though. **

**That being said, I hope I don't loose any of y'all. I really, really would cry if anyone stopped reading just because of this. Y'all are just gonna HAVE to trust me not to disappoint y'all because I really don't think it'll disappoint, at least, I hope not. IT WILL NOT BE A BIG FOCUS. When she gets pregnant, the plot won't disappear in face of Jace and Clary painting a nursery and arguing over names and taking parenting classes. The overarching plot will continue-Clary's mission, Valentine's mission, Samuel's mission, and so forth. All that will still be the focus-not the kid. **

**Anyway, after this long note, I present to you this next chapter, while though short, I do feel is important. (: So enjoy. I'll go ahead and let y'all know that time's gonna start picking up and moving pretty quickly now, months passing and so forth during the next few chapters.**

**SO have a good rest of the day, y'all, and please don't hate me about the baby thing. I've had scenes on it written for weeks now. It was one of the first solid plot points I had, and y'all will see why if you keep reading! (:**

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Chapter Forty-Six

"What's your favorite kind of music?" Jace asks, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he lounges back into the couch, shirtless, with Abel rolled up in his lap, purring contentedly.

I glance over at him, trying to ignore how attractive he looks with his sleepy eyes and his messy curls and his small little smile. "All kinds." Then I turn back to painting, finishing that tree that he commented on yesterday.

"That's a boring response—one I find unacceptable. Put some thought into it, Clary. I know you can do better."

I roll my eyes, sigh loudly. "I don't know, Jace. It's been years since I've listened to music."

"Folk music. Country music. Blues. Rock. Big band. Pick one."

"All of them," I reply, smirking over at him as he groans and tilts his head back, letting it fall against the couch.

He's jerking his leg up and down, needing to be constantly in motion, even as he is relaxing. "You're horribly unimaginative. Who would have known?"

I cross my eyes at him before facing my almost-finished canvas. I work in silence for a few minutes before Jace interrupts me again.

"You weren't here this morning—when I woke up." He speaks slowly, almost hesitantly, and there's something in his tone that makes me keep my hair between us, to hide my face. "You were gone all day."

"You're very observant," I tease lightly, but it doesn't work.

"Where were you?" he asks, a little darkly, enough that I peep back over at him and see his slight frown as he pets Abel.

"I was with Isabelle. Shopping for the baby," I tell him.

He nods a few times, poking his bottom lip out as he does so. But then his frown deepens, and his eyes flicker up to meet mine piercingly. "It's been a few months now."

I arch a brow, lost. "What?"

"Since we've been married," he replies. "It's been a few months…and there's no baby."

"Ah." I press my lips together and then shrug. "These things can take time, Jace."

"I know. It's just…my father," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face before sighing, troubled. "My father won't let you stay if you don't have my child."

"Isn't there a grace period?" I inquire calmly, knowing there is. That's the thing. Mother promised I wouldn't have to have Jace's child if I could find as much information as I could in a year or so—because Valentine won't kick me out of the Wanderer for at least that time, and if I can gain Jace's support, I can stay even longer.

"Yes. But he's impatient. You know how he is," Jace murmurs quietly, rubbing Abel's head. The cat purrs lovingly, stretching in Jace's lap.

"Is that worry I detect in your voice?" I inquire grandly, spinning towards him and cocking my head with a wry smile. "Afraid you might lose me forever?"

Jace smirks just a little over at me, his head falling against the back of the couch again as his eyes meet mine. "Well, I've become accustomed to your mood swings and generally bitchy behavior from time to time. I'd be a real pain in the ass to have to do it all over again."

I place my hand on my heart and give an overly dramatic bat of my lashes. "You're such a romantic."

He laughs once, looking so young and open tonight that it makes me nervous. I turn back to my canvas and paint and try to pretend he's not there.

But he won't let me.

"Clary, come here for a second," he calls.

"I'm busy right now. Can't you _see_ I'm busy right now?" I huff.

"Just for a second," he repeats.

I glare over at him, and he just smiles and pats the space next to him on the couch. I put my hands on my hips. "I'm not a dog. You can't just pat the couch and expect me to come running."

He groans and rolls his eyes. "Why do you have to take everything so damn literally and offensively?"

I cross my arms but drift over nonetheless because it isn't something I wish to make a big stand about. I drop down next to him on the couch, and he puts his hand on my knee, turning his head so our eyes meet.

"You wanna go somewhere with me tomorrow?" he inquires.

"Where?" I ask carefully, frowning in suspicion.

"Don't look so panicked, Clary. I'm not taking you to an orgy or something," he replies, rolling his eyes again. "I just thought we could get out."

"What _is_ it you want me to get out _to_?" I demand, glaring over at him.

"I can't tell you. I want it to be a surprise. But it's nothing dangerous or immoral—unfortunately."

I roll my own eyes at this, and then debate on it. "What time?"

"Ten."

"At night?"

"Yes."

I give him a cautious look. "That's late to be out."

"It is not," he huffs.

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling you!"

"Then I'm not going," I remark, crossing my arms again and looking petulantly away.

"Why are you being so difficult?"

"Because I don't like surprises."

"No, you don't like being out of control," he says, matter-of-fact, nodding a few times with this annoyingly assured expression.

"And you do?" I shoot back, arching my brows over at him.

"No, I don't. I just don't have a problem admitting I'm a control freak," he replies, arching his brows back at me.

"I'm _not_ a control freak."

"Then go with me tomorrow. Prove you're not."

I scoff and fidget and then realize he will win either way now, no matter what I say. I turn towards him, ready with a glare, but he's smirking, trying to hide it, and I see just a faint hint of dimples in his cheeks that I never have before. He cuts his amused, sparkling eyes towards me, and then I do something that surprises me completely.

I laugh—just a little—and it feels foreign. Yet nice. Enjoyable.

I remember laughing with my mother a lot when I was little, before I knew anything about anyone, and we would laugh until we cried, until our sides hurt. I miss that.

I kick at Jace, and he draws away, trying to protect Abel, but he's grinning, too. "Hey, don't disturb the cat."

"Oh, I'd hate to do that," I say, rolling my eyes and relaxing back into the couch.

"Yes. He's very cranky when he doesn't get his beauty sleep," Jace murmurs, petting the passed out Abel.

I rest my cheek on the back of the couch, watching Jace as he looks down tenderly at the little ball of gray fur in his lap. He's so gentle with the little kitten, so loving towards it, and I feel a pang in my chest because I wonder what he would be like if he were human, if were born with the same heart he has now, but raised by a normal family, with a kind-hearted father and a sane mother. I wonder what it might be like if he had gone to my grade school with me, if we had become friends there, if my own mother hadn't asked me to do this thing, if she didn't do the things she did for a living.

Everything would be so different.

But I can't think like that. Things are the way they are. Any other thoughts are just a waste of my time.

Jace glances over, catching my gaze, and arches a brow. "What?"

"Why…why were you like that? Last night?" I whisper before I can stop myself, because I'm curious, because I need to know at this point.

Jace nods once, looks back down at Abel so he doesn't have to look at me. "So that's why you took of this morning, huh?"

I don't say anything. I don't need to for him to know my answer.

"Don't you ever feel…distant from people?" he asks, so quietly I have to strain to hear. He continues looking at Abel, rubbing Abel's little gray head, evoking sleepy purrs from the happy kitten. "Like you're not connecting with anyone or anything? Just…going through the motions of everything?"

I remain silent, because I don't think he means me to answer. And even if he did, I wouldn't. It's too personal.

"I feel like that a lot," he says. "It just…it's lonely sometimes. I don't even know how to explain it because that's thing the thing—I mean, why are you distant from someone? Because you can't connect feelings together, can't _explain_ things. I guess words are the problem—because words are just hollow. They don't do justice to emotions, really. Sometimes you just have to act things out."

I still don't speak. I can't. I'm listening too hard.

"I just started thinking about that last night, and how I want to be close sometimes—to something, someone, maybe." He pets Abel a little faster. "Sex is as physically close as you can get to someone, so I just…I thought maybe it'd work emotionally, too."

My mouth is too dry to say anything.

So Jace lets out this uneasy little laugh to fill the quiet, and says, "It's just…it's stupid, I know. I don't know why I open my mouth sometimes. I think I read too much literature. It messes with you—makes you dramatic, sometimes."

I smile just slightly at that, but I have something else on my mind. I ask, a little hesitantly, "Did you? Feel closer to me?"

Finally, Jace looks over, his warm eyes connecting with mine, actually stealing my breath because they are so pretty and open and bright and pain-filled…but also hope-filled. It's the hope that takes my breath.

He frowns a bit, pained, and opens his mouth, as if to respond, but he must think better of it, and he looks back down to Abel, effectively keeping me from reading him. "Do you wanna go with me tomorrow or not?"

It's a shameless subject change, but I don't push.

And I don't hesitate to say, "I want to go."

* * *

**Ok. So what I NEED from y'all is questions. Questions and opinions, PLEEEEEAAAASEEE! I know y'all won't disappoint me. Because y'all are AMAZING.**

**Oh, and on a slightly fun, not really important note, do y'all want me to put up a picture of what Abel looks like? And do y'all wanna know what male actor I picture as Jace when I'm writing? If so, let me know! (:**


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Okay, y'all. So the reason I told y'all about the baby was because I felt like if I didn't, when the baby appeared in the story, everyone would think I put it in just because people were asking for it, and it wouldn't even seem like a good surprise-it would just seem lame. So, let me reiterate that THE BABY HAS BEEN PART OF THE PLOT FROM THE BEGINNING! I promise. Y'all have to trust me on this one. I mean... it's very important to the story, actually. I didn't expect people to talk about it so much and notice that Clary and Jace weren't using anything. So I felt like I needed to talk about that now as to not seem like a sell-out when I did write the baby.  
**

**Anyway, enjoy this chapter please. Not a lot of over-arching plot going on, I know. I'm focusing more the subplot of Jace and Clary's relationship at the moment, so just bare with me. **

**I will respond to all your lovely reviews later in the night, so I'm not ignoring my messages and reviews from last night and this morning, I promise. I'm running late. As always. Anyway! Please tell me how y'all feel about things! (:**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven

"A band?" I inquire, my eyes widening at the group of humans clustered on the make-shift stage in the middle of the park.

It's evening, and the sky is hot pink, the air cold but slightly warmed by the setting sun. Jace and I have just walked from the Wanderer here, to this park that remains me of the one I went to when I was a child. There are trees everywhere, lovely green grass hills, ponds, birdbaths, colorful winter flowers that are preserved by grand technology.

A surprisingly large crowd has gathered at the stage, where the slightly long-haired humans bang around with their instruments, tuning them.

"Yeah," Jace replies, stuffing his hands deep into his coat pockets and glancing over at me. He has on a deep red scarf that's fluttering in the soft wind, and it looks lovely against his slightly cold-pinked cheeks. "I thought you might enjoy them. They're pretty good."

"You've seen them before?" I demand, arching my brows.

Jace nods a few times. "Yes. They travel all around the city. They usually play in less public places, but they're getting more and more popular—so here we are."

I open my mouth, not sure what I'm going to say or ask, but it doesn't matter because one of band members is already telling us that they are about to play.

And in a few minutes, the park is filled with the lovely, upbeat, bluegrass music the band plays.

I haven't heard this type of music in years, and it brings back not only a feeling of strong, breathtaking nostalgia, but also of surprising lightness—because it's nearly impossible to feel bogged down when such music is playing, the energy catching on through the crowd like wildfire.

So when Jace looks over at me curiously, I smile at him, to let him know I like this, to let him know he did the right thing without even realizing it.

* * *

Jace leans his forearms on the banister, peering over the city with a faint smile as his curls get blown around in the wind. I stand next to him, high up on the roof of the Wanderer, watching him—not the magnificent nightlights below us, the lively city humming with emotion.

"You have fun?" he inquires, glancing over at me with his sleepy, sexy eyes.

"Yes, I did actually," I reply.

"You sound surprised," he murmurs, giving me a side-smirk.

I smile a little. "I am, I suppose. I'm more surprised that you knew about the show tonight than anything."

"Because it was a human production?" he questions, cocking his head a little.

I lean my hip on the railing his arms rest on, looking down at him. "Yes. And that it wasn't some fancy ordeal."

"Fancy is my father's style—not mine," he replies, a little bitterly, looking away from me, back to the city.

"I'm beginning to see that," I say, despite myself.

So his eyes flicker back to mine, beautiful and luminescent in the moonlight above us. I expect him to say something, but he doesn't. He just looks at me and looks at me, and doesn't stop until I become supremely uncomfortable.

Carefully, he straightens, rising to his full, towering height over me, and then faces me fully, his eyes never once leaving mine.

It seems as though he's about to say something important now, so I quickly make a show of stuffing my hands in my coat pockets and shivering, smiling up at him. "I'm freezing up here."

Jace's lips curl a little as he reaches towards me, putting his hands on my arms and rubbing up and down once, twice before leaning into me, as if to kiss me, but pulling up short. "I could help warm you up."

"Let's go back downstairs, and I'll let you," I whisper back against his lips, hoping this will be the end of his soul-searching stare, hoping he'll pull me back to our apartment and make things normal again.

But he doesn't.

He just pulls away from me and looks down at me with this little frown. "Clary," he says, then stops for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "Can we just…can we be friends?"

I arch my brows, try to play it off jokingly. "Are you breaking up with me?"

He laughs once, his eyes flickering to the side briefly before returning to mine as he sobers. "No, I mean…can we just be something…different than what we are now?"

"What are we now?" I inquire curiously, tilting my head at him.

"We're…" He trails off, inhaling once, thinking. "We're just two people that fuck a lot."

I flush just slightly against the cold wind so high up, and I look away from him. "So eloquent."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" He tilts his head forward, his eyes searching mine out and not relenting until I give in, letting my gaze flicker back towards his. "It's fucking. That's what we're doing."

"And what do you want to be doing?" I ask, a little sarcasm seething in my tone. "Be _making love_?"

He's not fazed. "That's a little extreme. I just…I want us to be able to…to talk and all that shit."

I laugh once, a dull sound, rolling my eyes away from him. "Well, that sounds lovely."

"I'm being serious."

"I know you are," I reply deadly, my eyes finding his again so he knows the gravity of what I'm saying. "And we can't, Jace. We can't be friends."

"Why not?" He actually looks slightly injured, as if he has a right to be.

"Because we're married. We're married because our parents said so. Our job is to tolerate each other and produce an heir—that's it, no more, no less."

"Well, wouldn't it be better if there _was_ more?" he questions, arching his brows up, sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders against the bitter wind.

"No. It's just more work, in my eyes. And it's a silly notion. There isn't a use to it, so why bother?" I turn away from him, facing the banister fully and staring out over the sparkling city so I don't have to look at him.

"Jesus, Clary. Why are you so cold? What the hell happened to you to make you like this? Don't you ever just want someone to talk to?"

"No, because I'm not the needy child you are," I snap out, glaring over at him.

He's not offended, like I hoped, like I wanted him to be so that he would lash back out at me and make me feel slightly less horrible for _being_ so horrible.

He just shakes his head a little. "I can see through you, you know. I'm pretty good at reading people. I know you're more than this. I just wonder if you've ever even let someone close to you, to see the real you—I mean, do _you_ even know the real you?"

I stare at him for a moment, my heart beating a little too quickly, and I try to avert the attention of myself by saying, "Do you?"

"Oh, shit. I don't know," he replies, sighing and leaning his forearms back against the banister, staring down so many feet under us at the passing, rich cars that look like insignificant ants below us. "Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I don't. Depends on what day it is."

His answer is honest, and it makes me shrink back a little as I pick at the banister, my thoughts running.

And then, I start talking. "I used to be close to my mother," I whisper, halfway hoping he won't hear me over the wind but he does. Of course he does. "When I was little…everything was easier then. I suppose everything is simpler when you're young, though, isn't it?"

Jace gives a half smile and a small nod.

I continue on, despite myself. Always despite myself. "We used to laugh and have fun and enjoy things—even though we never had much. But then…I got older, and I realized what she did, who she was, and it was harder to be close to her, then."

"When she made you marry me?" he asks, super soft.

I shake my head, still picking at nothing on the banister, refusing to look at him. "No. Before that…when, when she was grooming me to follow in her footsteps. There came a point when…when she stopped asking me things—how was I, how was my day, how did I feel. All that became…insignificant—or maybe forgotten. So I stopped asking her those things, too, and then, when you stop _asking_ someone things, you stop _knowing_ things, so you stop knowing them," I murmur, all in one breath. "I started to feel like…like she was a stranger. Like she didn't care about how I felt anymore. I don't think she does."  
Jace is quiet, and so am I—because I'm slightly ashamed at how much I've let out. And then I'm fearful he will offer stiff condolences and make everything I've said seem so much _less_—less real, less important.

But he just says, "Then ask me things—so you can know me. And I'll ask you things, too. So we can know each other."

I look over at him finally, hesitantly, and meet his pretty eyes and shiver and feel nervous. "Why? What's the point in that?"

"What's the point in anything?" he inquires, shrugging. "How the hell should I know, Clary? It just feels like the thing we should do. There's not always an answer for everything—not always a reason or motive for every move we make."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just stay silent.

And then, Jace asks me, "How are you, Clary?"

I stare at him in brief shock, but he's being genuine, kind with his slight smile, and it's the first time someone has asked how I am and really wanted an answer in…well, I don't remember how long. So it steals my breath.

"I'm well, thank you," I murmur.

Jace narrows his eyes slightly, his smile still there, and he shakes his head. "You know this only works if the answers you're giving are _honest_."

I know this to be true, so I think for a long time, trying to find the right word for how I am. I don't know because I haven't been asked in so long. So it takes me a full two minutes to respond with the best word I can think up for my state. I say, "I'm numb."

And Jace nods once, twice, his eyes boring into mine, and he says, "Me, too."

So we just stare numbly at each other as the wind rages around us and the city pulses below us.

* * *

**I hope y'all enjoyed a little insight into Clary's head. (: Abel, by the way, is now my avatar thingie so y'all can see him if y'all want! (:**


	48. Chapter 48

**I've lost my mind, y'all! I stayed up until twelve o'clock last night finishing this chapter for y'all...and then I NEVER EVEN FREAKIN' POSTED IT! What?! I even edited it on here, put an author's note-all that crap. And never uploaded it. Great. Well, here it is. Original A/N and all:**

**A/N: AH! Y'all. I'm so sorry I haven't responded to my reviews yet. I will tomorrow afternoon, when I get home. I've been so busy today. I just barely have time to post this chapter. I swear I haven't forsaken y'all! I feel so bad! Anyway, tomorrow I shall talk to y'all. And this chapter...well, I think we're gonna start getting back to the real plot now (:**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight

**Two Weeks Later**

He's pushing into me, hard and fast and shallow, making me crazy. We aren't speaking, no moaned names or muttered curses. The only sounds are the headboard slamming rhythmically into the wall and our harsh little gasps and short pants.

Jace is looking down at me, his eyes burning hot and staring purposefully into mine, refusing to let me glance away, and his face is close, our lips a whisper away but not touching, our breaths being shared heatedly.

I force my ankles to unlock from around his back, and I push my knees up higher onto his sides, spreading my legs wider for him, and then he's deeper and we're both breathing so hard that I feel faint.

Jace's forehead falls against mine, as if he's unable to hold his head up any longer, but his eyes still won't shut. He seems as caught in my gaze as I am caught in his.

He's going even faster now, almost frantic, and I buck up into him wildly, digging my nails into his shoulder blades.

And that must feel really good because, all of a sudden, his face contorts in what almost appears to be pain, and he breathes out this little "ah" sound and I feel a rush of heat from his release inside me.

It's so abrupt, and he's so lost in everything that it makes me clamp down around him, tight, milking everything from him as his eyes finally close and he trembles hard in my arms.

Then he's collapsing on me, his head falling to my chest, my knees dropping away from him, but he remains inside me. And little aftershocks shiver down my spine, lower, until I squeeze his soft length gently a few times. I feel him grow a little hard again, and I smile into his hair, my stomach heating back up.

But he lifts his head, ignores our bodies, and stares down at me, his brow furrowed. "How do you feel, Clary?"

I feel surprise flicker over my face, but I try to hide it by giving a little smile up at him, running my hand to his neck and pulling his face down so our lips touch. "Like I want to do that again."

Jace smiles back, briefly, but pulls away, shakes his head. "No, I'm being serious."

"So was I."

"Clary."

I sigh and let my head drop back against the pillow, "I don't know, Jace. I don't _know_ how I feel."

He grabs my arm, pulls it towards his face, and begins pressing soft kisses to the thin, tender skin at my wrist, up my forearm. Kisses that do nothing but say something—they don't soothe or inflame the ache between my legs, in my stomach. "Try to tell me," he whispers into the inner bend of my arm.

"I feel…I feel like you shouldn't be doing that," I say, quietly. "I wish…I wish you'd stop. Because it unnerves me. It makes me…makes me panic."

So Jace pulls away immediately and looks down at me. "Okay. I won't do that anymore, then—not if you don't want me to."

I offer a tired smile. "You know, Jace, this isn't exactly a normal friendship," I murmur, motioning down below, where are bodies are still connected and wanting.

He gives this devilish little smile, his eyes darting up to meet mine from beneath the fringe of his curls. "Nothing about our lives are normal, Clary. Besides, I think I like this kind of friendship."

I roll my eyes, but he pushes his hips gently against mine, making me gasp, making all feelings of amusement go up in flame. "Jace," I breathe.

He begins pulling out and pushing in slowly, his hips rolling against mine languidly, but it still makes a hot knot appear in my stomach, makes me arch up to meet him breathlessly.

I know this will soon get more heated, so I whisper, quickly, "How do you feel, Jace?"

"I feel fucking fantastic," he groans, his eyes closing, his thrusts coming harder now, more in earnest. I can tell it's going to be fast and rough this time, because he's not looking at me anymore. He only makes eye contact when he's trying in vain to make a connection. He doesn't when he's just trying to satisfy this age-old, primal urge inside us both.

But then he surprises me.

His eyes flicker open, and they're on fire and beautiful and swirling, and he's pounding into me now, making me writhe beneath him, making me moan, but I still manage to hear him when he says, "I feel alive."

* * *

**One Month Later**

"What do you think it is, Jace?" Izzy inquires, motioning to her protruding stomach.

She's four months along now and showing decently, a fact that makes her angrier with each passing day. She says she feels fat, and considering how willowy and thin she naturally is, I suppose it is quite a shock to her to have such a swell in her stomach.

"I say it's a boy. Clary says it's a girl," Izzy elaborates from her seat on the couch beside me.

Jace is just walking into the room, fresh from a shower, buttoning up his white dress shirt, preparing for the dinner we are all planning to go to this evening.

He glances over at us and offers a half smile. "I don't know, Iz."

"Search your heart," she orders dramatically. "Look into the future and see what the kid will be."

Jace rolls his eyes and drifts closer. "Maybe you should be asking my mother this question."

Izzy scoffs, but Jace is already crouching down in front of her, putting his hand on her stomach. He cocks his head a little, debating, and then grins and

Isabelle huffs so I think the baby has moved a little. "It's a girl," he says firmly, nodding once and then standing.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" she demands, glaring up at him as he finds a tie and endeavors to tie it—and fails to.

I stand up and walk over to him as he looks at Izzy and says, "I just do. She threw a punch just now, and it felt like a girl's punch. I'll have to teach her how to do it the right way."

"Boys don't know how to throw punches, either, until they're taught," Isabelle argues.

I begin fixing Jace's tie for him, staying out of it.

"It's a girl, Iz. Trust me."

"You're only saying that because Clary thinks it's a girl," Isabelle growls petulantly.

"Why would I do that?" Jace returns.

"Because she'll cut you off if you don't agree with her."

Jace cuts his eyes down at me, looking a little indecent as he inquires, "You wouldn't do that, would you, Clary?"

I smile up at him faintly, from underneath my lashes as I put the finishing touches on his tie. "You never know."

He grins slowly and exhales a laugh, then looks down at his tie and says, "Thanks, honey."

I flush just faintly and look away from him. "Of course."

"Okay. I'm leaving," Isabelle announces, groaning as she hauls herself up. Her hands go protectively to her stomach as she drifts towards the door. "You two can meet me down at the table when you're done being gross."

"I wasn't doing anything," I defend, leaning down to grab my small clutch on the coffee table.

Jace swats at my rear as I do so which makes me kick back at his leg, and then we're dancing around, trying to smack the other, and Isabelle is just opening the door, sighing loudly, and saying, "_Whatever_."

* * *

At the table, everything is stuffy and uncomfortable.

We're eating with the older Guardians tonight—Samuel, Valentine, Robert, Malachi, Aline, and so forth. The tension from something is palpable—but only between Valentine and Jace, and between Valentine and Samuel.

Aline keeps making eyes at Jace, and Malachi keeps making eyes at me, and I'm feeling nauseous and wishing this evening was over when I notice Celine's absence and say, hoping to gain some insight, "Is Celine under the weather?"

Valentine doesn't bat an eyelash, "Yes."

Samuel, on the other hand, looks slightly pale. He covers it well, though, and changes the subject. "Jace, as you know, there have been reports that the 10th border has been under a lot of pressure from the demons lately. I've been called to help—I thought you might like to accompany me. It's been some time since you've out in the field."

Jace's eyes dance every so slightly to me, but it's so quick I wonder if I've made it up. "I would enjoy that. They do need our help, after all."

"I don't think it wise," Valentine enters in abruptly, glancing fleetingly at his brother. "Jonathan needs to stay home for a while—home and safe."

"Valentine, the world cannot stop for your plans of having a grandchild," Samuel says, surprising me with his bluntness. But he says it in such a polite way that no one seems offended.

No one, expect Valentine, who is just as good at hiding his emotions as his brother. So Valentine merely smiles. "Yes, I'm aware. The situation at the 10th border, however, is not so grave. Jonathan's talents aren't needed there."

"Jace would be very helpful. He could clear out half those demons in one day and make everything go by faster," Samuel says. "And perhaps save a lot of lives."

"Or loose his own," Valentine mutters.

"Father, are you done speaking for me now, as if I'm not here, or do you wish to continue treating me as though I'm a child incapable of making my own decisions?" Jace asks, deadpan, as he glares across the table at his father, fiddling with the stem of his wineglass.

My hand slips over to Jace's knee, squeezes once, and I see him relax marginally. And I wonder why I've done such a thing. I pull my hand back immediately, but it's too late anyway. It's already been done.

"I'm merely giving my opinion," Valentine growls.

"When no one asked for it, I might mention," Jace replies.

They give each other measured, seething looks for a long time, a silent stand off that freezes the whole, large table's conversations.

And then Samuel clasps Valentine on the shoulder, smiling grandly, breaking the tension by saying, "Come on, brother. Let the kid go out and kill some things. I'll be there to watch his back."

Valentine inhales deeply, takes a sip of wine, and then looks down at his plate and mutters an off-handed, "Fine. Do as you wish, Jonathan."

"Thanks for the permission, Dad," Jace retorts, his voice biting with sarcasm.

The rest of the dinner trickles by in painful silence.

When I can't take much more, I stand up, excusing myself to the bathroom, and as I'm walking out of the dinning room, into the hall, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump, gasping in shock and turning to find Samuel there, looking down at me intently.

Immediately, my eyes narrow. "What is it?"

"I need to talk to you, Clary," he whispers tensely.

"Then talk."

"Not here." His eyes dart around the empty hall, as if he expects someone to materialize out of thin air, eavesdropping in on our words. "There's always someone listening around here. Just…just come talk to me—on the roof tonight, after Jace has fallen asleep. Please?"

I stare up at the large man, my heart pounding from the fright he's given me, and of course there's no choice but for me to say, "Yes."

* * *

**Oooooh. What do y'all think Samuel wants to talk about? HMM? Things are about to pick up, y'all. I can't wait for y'all to see what's going to happen. As for who I think Jace looks like when I'm writing this, the links are up on my bio thingie. So go take a peep. (: And as for Abel, he's my avatar thingie mabob. (: **


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Okay. One more time, y'all, and then I refuse to talk about it until it happens. The baby. I realize now that it's kinda getting blown out of proportion. It's really not that big of a deal in the long run. It's mainly there for a few characters to make realizations. I tried to get y'all off my trail for a long time by continuously saying remember, Clary's on the pill?! But y'all weren't fooled, you dogs. So I had to come clean. Now y'all know. But y'all don't know HOW yet. So y'all shall have to wait and see! (:**

**Anyway, last update for the night. Might-MIGHT-updated twice tomorrow, too. We'll have to wait and see! (: ENJOY and please keep those amazing reviews coming. I'm so wonderfully overwhelmed by them. Like, I spent thirty minutes responding to like four pages worth of reviews. Do y'all realize how amazing that is? **

**Also, for the person who reviewed in Spanish-um, AWESOME! I'll admit, my Spanish is not the best, so I had to type it into Google Translate what you said-and I WAS FREAKIN' AMAZED! So glad my story is something you're enjoying and using to help better your English! You are amazing! THANK YOU SO MUCH! **

**And thank the rest of y'all for just being...AWESOME. That's all.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Nine

I glance over, and I see Jace is soundly asleep, completely motionless and breathing deeply after the past two hours of being so physical. I seduced him as soon as stepped into the door of our apartment—a little before, actually, which made the elevator attendant horribly uncomfortable.

I know Jace sleeps most soundly after we have been together, so my plan has worked—although with the slight side effect of my own body hardly wanting to get up from the bed. But I manage with my heavy limbs to get dressed again and fix my hair before sneaking up to the roof.

Samuel is there, waiting, just as promised, safe so high up, amongst the heavy wind.

"What is it that you needed to say?" I inquire as I drift over, tightening my coat around me.

Samuel glances back at me, a burning cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes tight with some internal struggle. "I didn't think you were going to make it."

"I had to wait until Jace fell asleep," I say.

Samuel smiles just faintly, taking a drag off his smoke before saying, "Jace always hated going to bed as a kid—we'd have to run all the energy off of him before he'd finally just pass out—usually sitting straight up. Once, he fell into his food at the table—he was that tired."

I squash a smile I feel forming and simply say to Samuel, "I know you didn't ask me up here to reminisce about Jace's perpetual struggle to constantly be in motion."

Samuel sighs once, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he glances down at the thriving city built on blood and hard work and now corrupted. "Celine says you can be trusted, but I'm not so sure."

My heart stops for a moment, but my face remains stoic. "Celine?"

"She says that you should know what's happening, but I can't just take her word, you see. I trust she believes what she's saying, but Celine is…well, you know Celine. You know how she is." He inhales deeply, shaking his head a bit before his eyes flicker to mine, holding them intently. "I have to know for myself if I can trust you."

"Trust me with what?"

"Knowledge—the most important thing in the world, especially around here," Samuel murmurs before letting his gaze dance back down to the city. "Did you know there's a story in the Bible—about Solomon? He was king, and because of his faith and service, the Lord appeared to him—asked him what he wanted, that He would give him anything. And Solomon asked for wisdom—knowledge, to what's right and what's wrong. Isn't that something?"

I've heard the story before, but I keep my mouth shut. The Bible is not available to humans—because it shows how corrupt the Guardians really are, how they are not what God originally meant them to be, for the Bible was revised, more added to the end—the story of how and why the Guardians were created.

Mother used to read it to me. I always drank in every word, even the stuff that sometimes disturbed me. But it made me believe her more firmly, made me realize just how far the Guardians had fallen.

I suppose even Lucifer was an angel once.

"Anyway," Samuel sighs, blinking, as if coming out of a dream. "I realize the weight of some knowledge—knowledge that I can't trust you with just yet."

"Then what will you have me do?" I inquire, arching my brows at him coolly.

"Prove yourself." Samuel's eyes find mine again, dark and serious. "I need for you to get me something—from my brother's desk. He'll have a little journal—full of notes—codes, actually. I need you to copy them down for me, and give them back. If you do that without getting caught—and without breathing a word of it to anyone, I will think about trusting you."

My eyes narrow. "Why should I do that for you? It's obviously something bad, if Valentine knows nothing about it. Why should I risk my place in this establishment for your 'knowledge'? Maybe I don't even want it."

"Clary, don't think I'm a fool. I know you could care less about this establishment—or your standings in it. And I know you want that knowledge—more than anything else."

My heart stops for a moment and the wind seems very cold all of a sudden—frigid, actually.

There's a long tense pause, only the sounds of the city and whistle of the wind between us filling the air, and we simply stare at each other, testing the other out. It seems, Samuel has already tested me out and found what he needed. I'm the only one still in the dark, and I don't like it.

Or maybe I'm not the only one in the dark.

"Does Jace know of these covert plans?" I inquire, arching a brow.

Samuel's jaw tightens. "Part of the deal means no one knows about this—no one, including Jace."

"So I take that as a no."

"Don't push your limits, Clary. I can easily do this mission myself—I only want to see if you're capable."

"And I don't take lightly to doing things without Jace being apprised—he is my husband, after all."

"You're here without his knowing, aren't you?"

"Maybe he does know."

Samuel laughs once, humorlessly. "Do you even know Jace, Clary? If he knew, he'd be right up here with you—demanding answers. I see you're much more level-headed—which is why I asked you to do this. Will you do it—yes or no? No more questions—not until you give me an answer."  
There's really no debate. This is what I need, what I can use to help me understand, but still—I make him wait for a moment as I pretend to mull it over. Then

I say, "Fine. I'll do it."

Samuel nods, but he doesn't seem surprised. "Good. Keep in mind, though, if you try to double cross me—to tell my brother of my request—I can always make you—and your mother—end up begging on the streets for crumbs. Don't forget that. Valentine trusts me over anyone else."

I swallow once, nod curtly, try not to display how tense I am.

Samuel's lips purse, and he nods back at me in response. "Very well. Jace and I leave tomorrow. The mess at this border is considerable—we may not be back for some time. But we will come home to visit in three weeks—to see Isabelle for her birthday, a family tradition. You should have the information I need by then. That's when I'll collect it. Understood?"

I nod.

"And if you get caught…" Samuel trails, looking at me sternly, his hair whipping in the wind along with mine.

Despite the cold, the shivering of my body, my voice comes out strong. "I won't get caught."

Samuel's lips twist at this, a half smile that I know Jace has learned from him. There's this knowing look in his eyes that make me tremble even harder than the ice-cold gale. Because he knows too much—I don't know how, but he does. And then he says, wisely, "I didn't think you would."

* * *

"Where were you?"

I gasp, barely back into the bed, and I turn to look at Jace, but it's too dark to see him. "I needed some air," I reply to him.

He's silent for a long time, and I know he doesn't believe me. "That all?"

It's as if on some level he knows, as if he can feel my deception rolling off of me in neon flashes of light. But he can't possibly know, so I try to keep my paranoia to myself.

"Yes, that's all. You can trust me, Jace," I reply.

He doesn't respond right away, and he's quiet for so long that I think he's fallen back asleep. But then I hear, a soft whisper in the pitch-black shadow over the room, "Can I?"

* * *

**Uh-oh. Well, Jace is about to be gone for a while. Fear not, though. Time will begin elapsing again! (: **


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: HEY Y'ALL! 714 reviews. HOLY CRAP. Do y'all realize how amazing y'all are? LIKE REALLY?! That's in only a month. I'm so flippin' overwhelmed to be so supported by y'all. You guys seriously don't know how happy it makes to see y'all actually seem to enjoy my story. It means the world! THANK YOU! **

**I'll post one more chapter after this, by the way (: SO stay tuned! (:**

* * *

Chapter Fifty

Jace is gone in the morning before I wake. He doesn't tell me goodbye, only disappears, off with Samuel.

But I don't let myself dwell on the fact that Jace's trust is slightly corrupted. It's not his trust I need right now. It's Samuel's—if I can even trust him, myself.

* * *

**A Week Later**

"And you think this Samuel character can help?" Mother inquires from across the table, in our usual restaurant.

Soft music plays in the corner, dishes clattering softly around us as the cool winter sun just barely passes its apex in the sky and begins shinning in through the huge windows of the restaurant.

"Yes. I think he can—or at least, give me something. Something is going on with him and Celine—some kind of plan. Maybe against Valentine."

"Or maybe _for_ him. Samuel is his brother, Clary," Mother says, her finger tracing the heavy fork she has sitting beside her untouched food.

"Yes, but they don't seem close."

"Valentine isn't close with anyone."

"What else would you have me to do, then?" I snap, irritated. "I'm not getting anywhere any other way. This is a chance to stir things up."

"Lower your voice, Clarissa," Mother orders, giving me a stern look. "Sometimes, we don't need things to be stirred up. Sometimes we must be patient."

"I can't be patient. Valentine expects me to get pregnant, Mother. There's only so long I can go—we're already pushing it, as it is."

"Don't worry about those kinds of things, Clary."

"How can you tell me _not_ to worry about that?" I demand.

"Because I have everything under control."

"But you won't tell me! You won't tell me anything, Mother, and I'm getting tired of it, seeing as how I'm the one in the lion's den, tiptoeing around," I say quickly, lowly, glaring over at her across the table.

"Clary, I am your mother. And sometimes, you just have to trust me," she replies, deadpan. She leans towards me a bit, though, and now her face gets more animated, more fervent. "Do what Samuel asks of you—but be careful not to get caught. Everything could be undone at one false move. Be weary of Samuel, as well, as he may be trying to double cross you or turn you in to Valentine after you've pilfered his things. But, I do believe, this is good. This could help us—at least getting into Valentine's personal things. Look at everything, Clary. Don't leave one stone unturned."

I nod a few times, but Mother isn't done. The frantic light in her eyes becomes brighter, and she's almost smiling at me, though it's a disturbing recreation of the smiles she once gave.

"We're getting close now. Getting close to exposing these bastards for what they are—for taking them _down_. Valentine will soon be rotting in hell, and we will finally be free."

I agree with her, but after we settle back into our seats, after she gives me the necessary pill to avoid a child, I stare at her and wonder if she'll ever be free. If I ever will be, either.

* * *

I spend the next week figuring out the vent systems of the hotel.

Mother gets the Wanderer's blueprints for me from a friend she has in the City Library, and I pour over the plans long enough until I know exactly what vent leads into Valentine's office.

I'm just small enough to shimmy through the air ducts, even if my hips do occasionally get stuck. Now, as I wriggle through the vents, I feel suddenly thankful that I'm not claustrophobic.

It takes me an hour to finally get where I'm going, and then when I finally do arrive, I peep down into the office—and Valentine's there, which I had hoped. I might glean some useful information from him if he didn't know he wasn't being watched.

But he doesn't say a word. He just shuffles through papers I can't fully see with the elaborate vent covering between us. Sometimes he writes in books, the scratch of the pen against parchment the only sounds. And then finally, an hour later, after I'm getting increasingly smothered by the tiny vent, he gets up and leaves—locking the door behind him.

I wait another full ten minutes just in case he decides to come back—but he doesn't.

So, carefully, I undo the vent cover and ease down into the office, dropping lightly on the floor and eyeing the rather large, lavish space with an unobstructed view of the sparkling city below, the city that, thankfully, shines brightly enough that I can see without risking someone seeing a light on in the supposedly empty office.

I creep over to the huge oak desk first, feeling much too vulnerable in the middle of the room, with two walls made up entirely of windows. I crouch behind the desk and begin looking—slow and steady, putting everything back where I found it because it appears Valentine is as obsessive about the order of inconsequential things as Jace is.

Nothing appears important—all memos from Mr. Lamb and others, questions asked, things needing fixing, notes on the border breeches. No journal. No personal information. No _interesting_ information.

I knew there wouldn't be. Even with Valentine's office being locked down tight from the outside, there would be no way someone as paranoid as him would leave vital information lying around for anyone to find. He was, unfortunately, too smart for that—which left me disappointed, but not surprised.

So I began looking just solely for the journal Samuel asked for. I look through all the desk drawers, in all the filing cabinets—even on the coffee table stacked with religious texts.

No journal.

Groaning, I flop down into Valentine's high-backed leather chair behind his desk, my eyes roaming over the city-lit room, at the bookshelves filled with informational tomes (the ones I looked through just in case the journal might be in disguise), at the couch lined up against one of the window walls, at the dark rug I already lifted to see if there was a secret compartment.

Where would he hide such a thing? Maybe he kept it on him? Maybe Samuel had just decided to lead me on a wild goose chase. Maybe he did this, to set me, and maybe, any moment now, Valentine would burst through the doors and promptly toss me out onto the street, all my work for nothing.

I get up quickly, wanting to get away before I can get caught, because now I'm paranoid. And then I hit my knee on the underside of the desk—and something about it seems strange.

Slowly, I kneel down and peep under the desk.

A smile curls my mouth, and I grab for the little hatch, opening it. A dark brown journal drops out, plopping against the hardwoods, and I pick it up, flipping through it rapidly, seeing hundreds of scribbled words that make no sense together—code words.

I find the camera I have hanging around my neck, and I begin the dutiful task of taking pictures of each page, making sure the flash is on so that each word of Valentine's is illuminated for Samuel's prying eyes. Soon, the snap and consequent flash of the camera fills the air, loud and annoying and insistent.

I'm getting increasingly nervous as I flip through the book, unable to hide if anyone where to waltz in. The desire to grab the book and run, to take the pictures in the comfort of my apartment is strong. But I can't risk Valentine coming back and finding the journal missing. I also can't risk him catching me in the act, either.

So I'm torn.

My hands begin to tremble as I find I'm almost done with the book. A sick feeling of foreboding begins to twist in my stomach.

A moment later, I know why.

There are voices outside the corridor, and they send my heart into overdrive, the pounding so loud it's all I can hear.

In a panic, I shove the book back into the panel as best as I can and climb up onto Valentine's chair, gripping the edge of the open vent and trying to pull myself up.

But the voices are at the door now.

The lock is clicking. _Un_locking.

My arms seem to be made of noodles, and I can't hoist myself up into the vent. I keep trying and failing.

I blow my sweaty hair off my face and try again because I hear the door creaking open now.

"I just want it done," Valentine snaps. "Don't argue with me—just do it."

"Oh, yes, sir," Mr. Lamb murmurs nervously—from outside the door but rapidly closing in.

I try once more to lift myself up, and I accidently kick the chair away from me. It rolls out from underneath my dangling feet, and I'm just hanging now, my breathing erratic.

"I don't like things like this to go unattended to—they are important for image, Mr. Lamb," Valentine growls, and the door opens a bit more.

A slice of light cuts through the coolly illuminated room, light from the hallway.

He can see me now if he looks.

"Oh, God," I whisper, in prayer, and then, with a determined, silent grunt, I yank myself up. I'm halfway inside the vent now, with my elbows on the cool metal of the bottom of the duct, and I look back down, my stomach clenching with both fear and effort as I move my freely hanging leg towards the chair.

I have to scoot it back into the desk because that's the way Valentine left it. He'll notice if it's not done.

Only, just the tips of my toes can touch it.

I bite my lip in concentration, lowering myself a little, my arms wobbling with the strain, and I nudge the chair back into its place.

And then I'm hauling myself all the way in, just as the door opens fully and Valentine walks inside, slamming Mr. Lamb out.

As quietly as I can, I replace the grate on the vent, looking down with bated breath as Valentine appears in my view.

He sighs, sits down, seems to think nothing is wrong.

And then I hear it—a soft thunk underneath his desk.

"What the…" he mumbles, and then he's ducking his head a little, retrieving the journal that has fallen out of its hiding place—the place I didn't put it back in well enough.

Valentine stares down at it a moment, his white head bent over it, and then his head begins to tilt up, as if he can sense my panic and is honing in on it, like a dog to pray.

I scoot back as quickly as I can without making a sound.

I don't breathe.

I can't.

I keep going, back and back and back, shimmying on my stomach silently and breathlessly, hearing Valentine's door open and close beneath me somewhere.

And then it's silent.

Except for the lock of his door clicking into place, ringing through the air with finality.

I suck in a much-needed, shuddering breath and my forehead collapses against the cool vent as I try to compose myself before, finally, I get the strength to worm my way back to the apartment's vent.

* * *

**What did y'all think? Let me know! As if I have to remind y'all beautiful people! (:**


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: Okay, so a few quick things. 1. Last update for the night. 2. I hate that it's an odd number. It bothers me. 3. One reviewer called Clary Little Miss Bitchy Boots-and I thought that was hilarious and worth sharing. 4. Just realized that when you try to send a heart (the greater/less than symbol with a 3), it only sends the 3. So I now know that y'all aren't crazy for sending me stuff like "I like where things are going with this stor 3." 4. Y'ALL ARE AWESOME. 5. That's all.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

**One Week Later**

I've spent the last hour trying to get my hair and makeup right. It's silly. I know this. But there's some kind of compulsion to look my best today—the day Jace comes home for Izzy's birthday.

I just want to stop him in his tracks for a moment. I want to wield that kind of power over him. I like the idea of him thinking dirty thoughts as soon as he sees me, but being unable to act them out.

So I have to dress suggestively, without being tacky for the rest of people present at Izzy's party.

I finally pick out a deep red dress, one that hugs my curves, of course, and has a sweetheart neckline that dips just a little bit too low. I put on my matching red sling backs and my usual red lips before leaving my hair mostly down, only pinning it up on one side—just especially for Jace, even though I tell myself that it's not for him. I can't fool myself.

Then I walk to the ballroom, where Isabelle's party is being held.

I find her immediately in the crowd of dress-and-suit wearing Guardians that are already tipsy with the freely flowing wine and champagne.

I walk down the steps of the sun-drenched room that is set to fire by the setting sun, lit gold and white, sparking off all the shiny surfaces, almost blinding me as the soft music of the band surrounds me.

"Isabelle," I say with a small smile, approaching her. She turns to me, looking surprisingly demure in a black dress that clings to her tight enough so her rounded little belly is very obvious.

She smiles back at me, opening her arms for me, and she envelops me in a tight hug that I only barely resist. "Clary!"

"Happy birthday, darling," I say to her, pulling away and patting her arm. "I hope you like the gift I got for you."

"Something for the baby?"

"No, I thought since most of your gifts were going to be for the baby, I'd get a gift just for you."

"Bless you, Clary. You truly are wonderful," she says dramatically, linking her arm with mine.

I grin slightly, pat her arm, but I'm already distracted. My eyes are roaming the rapidly filling ballroom, searching but not finding.

"He's not here yet."

I blink and look over at Izzy, as she stares at me with this little knowing smirk. I make a big show of huffing. "I wasn't looking for him."

"Sure you weren't. You miss him, don't you?"

"No," I say, shaking my head.

"Yes, you do."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You only say that when I'm right, and you don't want to admit it," she replies around a mouth that it tilted up in the corners smugly. "It's okay to miss him, Clary. It's _okay_ to like him. It's _okay_ to be happy with him. Where does it say you don't have to be? You don't have anything you need to prove to him, Clary. Trust me, the way he talks, he's—" Izzy breaks off, clears her throat.

My head snaps towards her. "He's _what_, Isabelle?"

"Nothing. He just…he really likes you, is all."

"He has to like me."

"No," Isabelle says, so firmly that I almost believe her. "No, he doesn't, Clary."

* * *

The sun finally dips below the horizon, and the city around us lights up, lights up as far as the eye can see from the window walls of the ballroom.

Everyone is in full party mode, now, laughing and dancing and drinking. Isabelle and I are the only ones that don't partake, it would seem. We just sit together and she tells me little snippets of gossip that though interesting, don't help me much.

Then, I go to get some punch.

And when I return to our table, I come up short for a moment.

Isabelle is standing up, hugging Jace tightly. "I didn't think you guys would make it before my birthday was over," she cries loudly into his shoulder.

I can't see his face, only his back, but I do see his shoulders shake with a laugh. "Never, Iz. It's a tradition to see you on your birthday…and give you this." He pulls away and hands her this small little silver charm, of what, I can't see. "You're annual charm."

Isabelle beams as if he's given her the world. "If we keep going at this rate, maybe I'll have a halfway decent looking charm bracelet by the time I'm thirty."

Jace laughs once and then turns his head slightly, as if sensing my gaze. And then his eyes drop over me, down every inch of my body, over every curve, slow, slow, slow.

My heart falters a little as I take him in myself, his disheveled hair and sloppy tie and the few buttons he missed on his button-down beneath his slightly crinkled suit jacket. He obviously just threw on whatever he could find and fast, in order to make it down to the ballroom before midnight.

He still looks shockingly attractive, surprisingly so because it's been three weeks since I've seen him and the memory of his looks has dulled just slightly in my typically human brain.

Then I force myself to walk forward, walking with the usual swing of my hips, and his eyes flicker up to mine as I lean towards Isabelle, handing her the glass of punch I've gotten for her.

"Hello," I say to him.

"Hi," he replies, his lips pulling up into a pursed little smirk he's trying to hide. But there's nothing amused about his eyes, about the way he's looking at me, like he wants me right now, like he's imagining things—and I know he is. He just can't act them out now, in front of all these people, but the longer I stare into his beautiful eyes, the louder I can almost _hear_ his thoughts, his desires, and I have a hard time breathing.

But still. I can't look away.

* * *

His lips crash heatedly into mine as soon as we're falling into the restrooms together. I cling to him, my hands running through his silken curls, my mouth moving greedily against his, and I'm surprised at my own hunger, my own desire—a match for his own.

"Hold up," he grunts, pulling away from me to peep down under all of the bathroom stalls. And then he straightens and grabs my hips and smiles down at me crookedly. "Didn't want a repeat of what happened last time."

I laugh, but the sound quickly becomes a gasp because he's picking me up, slamming me into the wall, his lips eager against mine.

We're wasting no time now. Jace's hands are already under my dress, yanking down my panties, and I'm already tugging his zipper down, finding his hard length and freeing it from the confines of his pants and boxers.

I stroke him once, making him groan, and then I'm getting slid up the wall, and my breathing gets hard because I know he's about to finally—_finally_—be inside me.

And then he thrusts, and I cry out his name softly, holding his head to my throat, pressing my nose into his hair, drinking in his scent. I close my eyes so I can feel him within me, moving in and out carefully a few times until he finally fills me completely.

We both groan and simply stand there for a moment, my legs wrapped as tight as they can be around his waist, his hips pressing deeply into mine, our breathing coming in pants, both of us savoring this feeling again—because even though it's just been three weeks, it feels like much, much longer.

Jace begins to tremble a little, trembles that rock through his body, into mine where we are connected, and I moan, squirming against him to try and soothe the flames that are consuming me. It just makes the fire burn hotter.

"Jace," I whisper into his hair. "Jace?"

"What, Clary?" he groans, almost irritated, as if I'm bothering while he's trying to focus on something. His face is hidden in the dip of my neck and shoulder and I feel the brush of his lips on my skin as he speaks.

"Move, you idiot," I snap, squeezing my legs tighter around him so he gets the idea.

Jace bites my neck, making me jump and instinctually tighten around him. "So bossy," he breathes in aggravation before sucking gently at the skin he's just nipped at. And then he jerks his hips up, thrusting into me roughly, making me cry out his name again.

We move against each other, hard and fast and desperate—like how it was when we first started doing this, except, this time, the desire is even stronger…and something else is different, too. Something that makes it _more_—more heavenly, more exciting, more _everything_.

More addictive.

"Jace," I gasp. "Jace, don't stop. Please don't stop. You…you—oh!"

His hands have slipped to grasp my backside roughly, and he's using his hold to pull me more firmly against him. And my head tilts back, striking the wall, and I don't even feel the pain. All I feel his him.

"I'm not going to stop, Clary," he says hoarsely against my throat before biting me again, making me cry out yet again. "Fuck. I missed this."

I just moan, my head getting heavy, my stomach feeling incredibly tense.

"Did you miss this, Clary?" Jace asks hotly against my ear. "Did you miss getting fucked like this?"

As usual, words that would normally repulse only heighten, and I'm trembling, shaking, quaking, clenching around him, gasping breathlessly, so close.

"Answer me," he growls, his thrusts becoming a little more erratic because he's getting close, too. His movements become frantic now, desperate to feel that sweet release, but I can also feel the tension in him. Trying to hold back still.

"Yes," I cry, moving my hands over his shoulders, down his back a little, feeling how hard his muscle is, wishing I could feel just his skin instead of cloth. "Yes, oh yes, Jace."

"Did you miss me?" he asks, so softly, such a contrast to the way he's thrusting into me mercilessly, so hard that it almost hurts but it feels so good—the pain. It lets me know he's here now, that this isn't one of the many dreams I've been having over the past few nights, the dreams I'd never admit to him. "You better fucking answer me when I ask you something."

I shiver and convulse lightly against him, biting my lip so hard I draw blood, to keep from screaming and alerting everyone outside of our wicked activities. And then, when I finally think I can speak in a quieter tone, I whisper, "Yes."

And Jace is pulling his head up, to meet my eyes, and his golden irises are the fire that's burning inside me, hot and powerful and completely encompassing, and he gives this dark little smile and says, "Good."

That's all it takes for me to shatter, and I have to bite my lip again, have to rest my forehead against his shoulder as I shake violently, my whole body jerking against him, around him.

Then Jace's face is being buried in my neck and he's groaning loudly, releasing inside me powerfully, making my own waves of pleasure rise even higher because he's shaking against me and moaning and he's so open, so vulnerable right now, so overcome, as I am, and it's because of me. He's like this because of me—and the realization takes my breath even harder than my climax.

When it's over, one leg drops from his waist awkwardly before following the other, and Jace's hands go out, bracing him on the wall behind me, his face still hidden in my neck.

My hand, I find, is ghosting over his sweaty neck, almost in a soothing motion, to calm down his little pants. And then my head is turning and I'm kissing his ear softly, an unnecessary kiss—the first I've ever given him—and he presses his face further into my neck, sighing contentedly.

But then I jump and pull away slightly, because the stubble of his jaw and cheek is making my skin raw. "You need to shave," I announce.

I feel his lips pull up into a smile against my pounding pulse, and then he nods his head rapidly and then shakes it just as swiftly—making the short, harsh little hairs scrub roughly over my skin.

I laugh because even though it's slightly painful, it's tickling, as well, and I push him away sharply. "Stop, Jace."

"Why, Mrs. Wayland, are you ticklish?"

"No," I lie firmly.

He exhales a little hot laugh against my neck and pulls away from me completely, tucking himself back into his pants as he looks at me, such an intense, probing look that it makes me blush a little. "I'm having you again tonight."

At this, I force myself to arch an eyebrow, to hold my flush at bay. "Are you?"

He grins just slightly, a half-grin that's all dark, and he shrugs as he zips up his pants. His eyes never leave mine. "Just warning you."

"That sounds ominous."

He gives that quick half-grin again and leans in to kiss me softly as he smoothes down my dress for me, but he does it slowly, his hands lingering dangerously long on my hips as he goes. "I missed you, Clary."

I know I've already said the same to him, but it was only because he asked me, in the throes of passion, and I can't say it again. My mouth goes dry, any kind of wit abandoning me.

It doesn't matter, though.

Jace is already turning back for the door, ready to go back out to Izzy's party and act as if nothing happened.

But something _has_ happened, though what—I'm not sure.

* * *

"You did it," Samuel exhales, smiling and shaking his head down ruefully at the envelope filled with pictures—pictures of Valentine's journal.

"I didn't get the last entries," I tell the older man as we stand on the roof. I'm impatient and nervous, fearful that Jace will realize I've been gone for punch much too long and come looking for me. I need to get back. "I almost got caught."

"This is fine, Clary," Samuel murmurs, nodding and slipping the pictures into the inner pocket of his thick coat. "You did wonderfully. And I thank you."

"So you'll tell me what all this is about now?" I inquire, arching my brows at him, shivering in the harsh wind.

"I will. But now's not the time. We can't be gone any longer from Isabelle's party."

"Then when?" I ask coldly, glaring up at him.

Samuel ponders this for a moment, his lips pursing. "When I know everything myself—for a fact. I need to look these pictures over first. And then—when everything is clear—when Jace and I get back from the borders again—I will contact you."

"When you get back? When are you leaving?"

Samuel nods. "Tomorrow evening."

"How long will you be gone?" I snap, and I say I'm only angry—angry that I will have to go more weeks without answers. But I'm also…I feel a little pang in my stomach—something like dread. I don't focus on that, though, or the reason behind it. I have much more important things to do.

"I'm not sure. A month—maybe more." Samuel reaches out, clasps my shoulder, and his hand is big and warm. His kind but secretive eyes find mine in the night and the bright city lights below us. And his voice rings with sincerity as he says, "I'll tell you everything, Clary. In the meantime, watch your step. And watch after Celine, as well. I fear…well, sometimes I fear some harm might become of her."

* * *

**I hated this chapter. Hated everything about it. I don't know why. I just did. I apologize for it. Next chapter will be better. Promise.**


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: HEY Y'ALL! I hated writing this chapter. UGH. I just hated it. You'll see why. It's really...disturbing for me to write, though I did try to write in a way that just wasn't horrifying. It needed to be done, though, because it brings Clary to a realization, that will lead into more realizations about her relationship with Jace, as well as her mother, and you will soon also be seeing more of Clary's childhood. However, this is a dark theme, one I definitely wasn't going to write in detail because I'm not one of those writers that can go to the dark, dark place. I like my things fairly happy. So just a warning to anyone out there that's easily shocked/disturbed like me: attempted rape in this chapter. Nothing bad actually happens, but there is a slight struggle. But bare with me. It's going to move away from this. This is the only time this will happen. It's about to get really twisty-turny, guys. I can't wait until you see tomorrow's chapter! (:**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two

**Two Weeks Later**

"I'm so fat," Isabelle complains loudly, rubbing her hands down her rather large stomach. Five months and she's already sick of it. She's done nothing but complain the past few times I visited her—complaining of how unattractive she looks, how her feet are swelling, how her back hurts, how she throws up. She's getting more and more irritable by the day, so I've started inviting Celine along with me on these visits to act as more of a buffer.

"You look lovely," Celine whispers to Isabelle. "Glowing. Positively glowing—the new mommy look." She smiles dreamily, and her eyes drift over to me, intent and curious—most likely wondering why I haven't come up with child, yet.

I refuse to look back at her. I only stare at Izzy and say, "Yes, you do look lovely. You're still thin everywhere except your stomach—which is unavoidable."

Isabelle just wrinkles her nose a little and stuffs another whole chocolate muffin into her mouth. She speaks as she chews, dark crumbs falling down onto her dress as she does so, making me cringe. "Do you miss Jace, Clary?"

Celine's eyes flicker over to me again.

I smooth my dress over my crossed legs. "Where did that come from?"

"Just wonderin'," she mumbles around a mouth-full of bready chocolate. "He's been gone a whole two weeks now—that's a long time when you're still, technically, newlyweds."

"We are no longer considered newlyweds," I scoff.

"Six months? That's not long at all in the grand scheme of things. And don't try to change the subject. You can tell us—we're all girls here."

I roll my eyes and just shake my head, refusing to answer, until Izzy finally gets bored and moves on.

* * *

**One Week Later**

I'm in the ladies' room on the dinning room floor, washing my hands before returning to my dinner with Izzy.

I stare in the mirror, at my reflection, pursing my lips, noting the slight lack of effort in my makeup today. For the past week, I haven't been dressing as nicely, preferring more casual day dresses, and I haven't been spending hardly any time at all on my hair and makeup.

I still look presentable, of course, but I just…I don't enjoy wearing some of my new, nicer dresses without Jace there to gawk at them. Because I've decided I very much like making him think inappropriately. I like knowing he wants me, and I wish he were here now, to take me against the bathroom wall like he did only three weeks earlier.

I clear my throat, disturbed at the turn my mind is taking, at the way my thoughts are turning back to that night before he left me last, the unbelievably sharp and erotic image that is burned into my brain—the image of his golden, messy strands of hair between my legs, of that little smile he gave me up the length of my body, because it was the first time I let him—

The door opens behind me, and I jump, blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment. I feel the nagging twinge of desire in my stomach, the first time I've ever felt so strongly without Jace physically present to make me feel such a way.

I look back down at my hands, avoiding the eyes of whoever is walking in, because I know they must shine brightly with telltale lust.

But the person is hovering behind me, a few feet back, and I feel the intent gaze on my back, and I look up, into the reflection, gasping sharply when I see Malachi standing there, leaning slightly against the wall.

"What…what are you doing here?" I inquire.

His bloodshot eyes find mine, and he smiles slowly, sickeningly. "I saw you come in here. I thought if I was lucky, I'd catch you alone."

My blood instantly runs cold, my heart pounding in warning. "Well," I say, with only a tiny quiver in my voice as I shut the faucet off. "Wasn't there another way to talk to me other than following me into the women's bathroom?"

"Who said anything about talking, Clary?" Malachi slurs, because he's drunk—horribly, horribly drunk. I can smell it on his breath, secreting from his skin—even at our distance.

I feel my stomach roll. "Oh, please," I mutter, my repulsion making my voice come out sharp and much too sarcastic—which only angers Malachi. I see the shift in his face from drunken stupor to pure rage, and I know I've misspoke seriously. So I try to reconcile, before this can get out of hand. Of course nothing is going to happen. Nothing _can_ happen. That's impossible. These types of things just _don't_ happen—not to me. There are leering guys, of course, but none of them ever actually hurt me. Malachi won't hurt me, either.

"Why don't we take this outside—in public? If you don't mind. I can't be serious when standing in a public restroom," I say, offering him a friendly enough smile and walking towards him, because the only way out was through the little hallway he is currently taking up.

I try to duck around him, but just before I can slip by, his hand shoots out, gripping my upper arm much too tightly, making me wince, making my fingers shake with adrenaline and fear.

He stares down at me, his eyes droopy and filled with ill intent. "You aren't going anywhere."

There's a lump in my throat. Everything in my body is screaming, screaming with the utter wrongness and perversion of this, and I feel so sick I almost sway.

But I force myself to at least appear strong. I take a deep breath through my nose, leveling my gaze up with his. "Let. Go. Of. Me."

Malachi simply grabs my other arm, slams me against the wall—the same wall Jace had me against a few weeks previous—and the feelings now are so different that the irony is not lost on me.

"If you don't let go of me right now," I growl, "I'll tell Jace—he'll kill you."

"Jace isn't here, honey," Malachi mumbles around a drunken grin before putting his face close to mine, the smell of whisky blowing into my nose, making me even more nauseous.

I close my eyes, wrinkle my nose, and turn my head away from him, shaking in fear. "He'll be back soon enough—and I'll tell him everything."

"Not if you have a little accident, too," Malachi whispers wetly, his saliva splattering onto my cheek before he presses a sloppy kiss to my jaw.

And that's it.

The little defense Jace has taught me when we are wrestling around on the living room floor kicks in, and my knee jerks up, catching Malachi right between the legs—hard.

He cries out in agony, immediately jerking away from me, and I lurch to the side, towards the door that will lead to freedom and other people and safety.

But Malachi grabs the back of my shirt, yanking, making me collapse to the ground, and then I'm crawling over the shiny tiled floors, inching my way as quickly as possible to the door, to that sliver of light beneath it, to the music beyond it, in the dinning room.

Only Malachi's hands are grasping my ankles, sliding me back, my nails clawing uselessly at the floor, a scream in my throat.

He's on top of me now, one hand snaking around my head and closing over my mouth, the other trying to pull up my dress as his heavy body pins my stomach and legs to the floor.

I'm still screaming, though it's muted, and I'm thrashing beneath him, trying my hardest to throw him off—but it's impossible. He's too heavy, too strong, too _everything_.

A sense of cold panic awash with a tingling kind of numbness, the numbness from the realization that yes, this is happening, and no, there's nothing I can do about it, wells up inside me.

I squint my eyes shut, trying to think, but everything is going so fast now and I _can't_ think. There's only that blinding terror.

Blinding, animal-like terror—that makes me act on insinct, in self-preservation.

I bite into Malachi's hand—hard—drawing blood, and he lets go with a sharp cry, and then I'm screaming the first name that pops into my head, the first person who I think can help me. "JACE! JACE!"

"Shut up, you dumb little bitch," Malachi grunts, slamming the back of my head, making my forehead strike against the cold floor, making me see stars. "He isn't here to save you."

"Jace," I whisper, my head fuzzy and suddenly heavy, the pain ringing through my skull like a siren.

Malachi has my dress pulled up all the way now, and he's going to do something horrible to me, the worst thing anyone has ever done to me before, and I don't know if I will ever be able to get over this because this is one of my worst fears—to feel so helpless, to feel so used and weak and…

"What the hell?"

I look up with blurry eyes and find Simon, his face horrified and livid as he stares down at us, with me pinned to the floor pathetically.

"Simon," I say, relief flooding through me like a spring breeze. My head is still ringing and pounding, and now it doesn't matter—because this is over.

Simon is calling for others, and Malachi is being dragged off me, and I'm being looked at by the doctors.

I have a concussion, which is why everything is so fuzzy until Simon and I are suddenly standing outside my aparment door and he's looking down on me in concern.

"Clary, are you going to okay? Do I...do I need to stay with you?"

I shake my head, give him a small smile, still feeling sick inside, deep inside my gut. "No, I'm fine now. You can go on about your duties. I'll just…I'm just going to lie down."

Simon looks unconvinced. "He didn't…he didn't actually, um, do anything, did he, Clary?"

I shake my head again, now a little relief touching at me again, because it could have been much, much worse. I swallow back a bit of bile. "No, he didn't."

"Thank, God," Simon exhales.

I nod in agreement.

"Well, he'll probably be sent off to one of the borders—to patrol outside the Wall. That's what they do to those that break the rules—it's pretty much a death sentence but with Valentine able to keep his hands clean."

I nod again, but I don't feel much better. I put on a good act, though, good enough that Simon believes me and then leaves me be.

I go into the bedroom immediately, barely taking the time to strip down into my underwear and leave that dress that I will never wear again lying crumpled in the floor.

I climb into the bed, and I sit quietly in the rapidly darkening room. It's twilight time, where the light in the bedroom is deep, soft blue, no longer hot gold and pink but not yet black and dotted with the lights of the city. It's a strange color. The color of mourning I think.

So I can't sleep.

After a few restless minutes, I roll in the bed, moving to Jace's side, and my face is pressed into his pillow without thinking, trying to catch a whiff of his scent. I think, maybe just vaguely, I can smell the spice of him deep within the down of the cushion.

I sigh and get up, abandoning any hope of sleep, and I run myself a bath, easing down into the hot, fragrant bubbles and feeling my muscles relax a bit.

My head rests against the edge of the tub as I sink my whole body underneath the warmth of the water, and though my skin hums in satisfaction, though I feel each muscle loosening, the sickened feeling in the pit of my stomach remains.

And I find myself wishing Jace were here. I want him here so badly that I feel a hollow sensation battling for territory in my already upset stomach. I want him here because if he were here, I would feel something I've never felt before, not really, throughout my whole, tumultuous life:

Safe.

* * *

**Horrible, horrible, horrible. Some of you will probably be like, eh, not as bad as I thought. Others (like me) are going to be sickened like I was having to write it. YUCK. Writing dark stuff like that is definitely not something I would ever like to do. *shudders* But my prayers go out to any girl (or guy) that has ever been abused in such a way.**


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: THANK Y'ALL for all the support on last chapter! Yuck! Anyway, here's the first of two updates this evening! (: It's about to take a turn. At least, I hope.****  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Three

_"Hey, baby, why don't you c'mere a minute," calls out the cockiest boy in my school. He's attractive, and he knows it. It blinds him, though. It makes him repulsive. Instead of using his good looks to his advantage, he abuses them until when I look at him, I don't see a handsome face and ice blue eyes—I just see a bastard._

_ I turn towards him and his gaggle of friends. "What do you want?"  
_

_He shoves off the wall he's been leaning against and swaggers towards me, not pausing until he's directly in front of me, staring straight down at me, making me feel very small. His grin is annoying. "You."  
_

_I roll my eyes delicately. "Oh, do you?"  
_

_He leans down, almost putting his lips against mine, and I stiffen—because this will not be my first kiss. I'll beat him with my bare hands if he tries to steal my first kiss from me. But he doesn't. He just says, "How much?"_

_ I give a tight smile, and then, as sweet as can be, I ask, "One personality for one kiss. Is that agreeable? Oh, but it seems you're short of one of those. How unfortunate."  
_

_"Don't act like you're not a whore," he drawls, his grin widening. "We all know your mom is the biggest whore of the city. Probably bangs all the Guardians in the Wanderer—just for a few strands of pearls. So what about I give you a nice little bracelet and you give me a blow job in that alley over there?" He jerks his chin to the side._

_ My jaw tightens, my stomach churning with both horror and rage. I like the rage better because it doesn't hurt me. So I give him another graceful smile. "How about I give you this instead?" Then I punch him—right in the kidney—and he groans, doubling over._

_ "You little bitch!" he cries, glaring up at me as he clutches his stomach._

_ "The only little bitch I see around here is you," I announce and then flounce away, leaving him behind. But what I can't leave behind is my feeling of humiliation._

* * *

My eyes open to a sun-drenched room, and I don't care to get up.

I just lie in bed all day and the next night.

I don't feel like moving, so I don't.

* * *

**One Week Later**

"Have you been feeling well?" Celine inquires about me.

I sit on the edge of the couch, looking at the blank canvas on the easel, the very one that has been sitting there, taunting my lack of inspiration, for the last few weeks.

Glancing over at Celine, in her usual seat by the window, I nod. "Yes, I feel well. Thank you. And you?"

"I miss Jace," she whispers, rubbing her knuckles over her lips absent-mindedly as she stares out the window, at the clear winter day.

I look back at the canvas, sighing.

"You do, too," she murmurs, a firm statement of the truth, and I think she must know more than I do. "I can sense it."

I don't respond. I don't know how to. And over the past months, I've come desensitized to Celine's strange sayings, and I no longer react to them.

"He misses you to, you know," Celine says, almost lovingly. "He's fond of you, as you are of him—like two young trees that grow and grow, higher and higher, their limbs beginning to intertwine until soon, it's impossible to tell them apart, to see that it is not one big tree—but two."

"That's a bit too metaphorical for this early in the morning, don't you think?" I inquire, arching a brow at her and giving her a playful smile before standing and walking to the teacart.

"It's the image I have in my head—the image of your relationship—growing and growing and growing..."

"Do you want sugar in your tea?" I ask.

"And growing."

I drop a few white cubes into her steaming cup anyway, because I know she does prefer it when she's with me enough to say so. And then I walk over to her, hand her the cup, and she's standing to take it. But instead of grabbing it from me immediately, her hands go up to engulf my face, her fingers cold and clammy like a child's.

"You should open your heart, Clary," she whispers, her face alight with something. "To share yourself with someone, to be so vunerable for them, it holds such a thrill and such a delicate beauty. It far surpasses any physical connection. It is simply…euphoric in and of its own—it's own kind of ecstasy. And you could experience that, with Jace. He's already begun to open his heart to yours. Perhaps you could return the favor?"

I stare at her a long time before offering a weak as water smile and removing her hands, placing them around the teacup I've fixed for her. I brush her arms with my fingers carefully, still smiling, but I don't answer. I still can't.

And then, when I let go of her, her eyes go blank, a sharp intake of air filling her lungs. She's frozen, her body here but her mind elsewhere, almost as if a movie only she can see is playing behind her eyes.

I watch in muted horror as tears, thick and hot, begin to roll down her cheeks, as she shudders so hard that her teacup clanks against its saucer.

"Samuel," she whispers, and then drops the cup. It sails through the air, as if in slow motion, before clattering onto the hardwoods, the pocerlien shattering into a million pieces, the small sharps flying everywhere, the tea spilling out over the rugs.

Neither of us seem to notice it, least of all Celine.

"What is it?" I demand. "What's wrong?"

Then Celine blinks, and she's halfway here, enough to tell me, "Samuel's dead."

* * *

Two minutes later, Izzy bursts into my apartment, crying her eyes out—saying how Samuel is dead, how he was killed in action.

I demand to know about Jace, and she tells me that Jace is unharmed—at least physically—but this seems of little comfort to Celine, who has fallen into a coma-like state since the news. She just lies on the couch, her eyes open but unseeing, her lips moving rapidly.

She stays like this for the rest of the day, on into the night.

And all she whispers is one word.

"Murdered."

* * *

I wake when I hear the shower running.

Immediately, I know he's home, after the two days we've all spent waiting for him—and Samuel's body—to come back.

I sit in the bed for a minute, trying to decide what to do. The urge to lie back down and feign sleep when he comes back into the bedroom is great—to put off the inevitable as long as possible.

But then I feel guilty—actually guilty—for doing so. I know what Samuel meant to him. I know that he must be grieving—but I don't do well with grief, or any emotion for that matter. It makes me nervous.

Still, I force myself do to what I feel I must, and I get out of bed.

I pad into the bathroom, steam billowing around me, enveloping me along with Jace's masculine scent, that soap he uses that's so spicy—and so different from my own floral smelling bath salts.

The shower glass is frosted, so I can barely see Jace's outline, can barely see the way he's leaning forward, bracing his hands on the shower wall, staring down at the floor as the water pelts his back.

I pull off my nightgown, letting it drop to a soft pile in the floor, and then, gingerly, I open the shower door.

Jace's eyes flicker over towards me from underneath the fringe of his curly wet hair, and his face is half hidden by one of the arms he has extend before him, holding him up.

We don't speak, mainly because I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do either, but I get into the shower with him, closing the door behind me, because this seems like the right thing to do.

It's hot and the steam is thick, almost choking me, as I try to think of what to do next. Giving comfort is such a foreign concept to me.

I move to stand behind him, my hands rising but hesitating a few inches from his wet skin. The hesitancy only lasts a few moments, though, and soon my fingers are on him, tracing the swirling lines of the Guardianship raised on his back, like scars.

Slowly, I smooth my hands down, over the tightening muscles of his back, getting reacquainted with his body. I let them slip over his sides, to his rib cage, down to the clenching muscles of his stomach, and I lean forward, pressing my lips to his shoulder.

He lets out this shuddering little sigh and tilts headfirst heavily, his forehead coming to rest on the shower tiles as I kiss him again, and again, savoring the warmth of his skin, the saltiness of his sweat and soap.

Then he's turning in my grasp, shaking his head, pulling my hands from him, holding them between us. There's a pucker between his eyebrows, . "No, Clary. I don't…don't touch me."

"Why not?" I whisper, my eyes looking up, finding his.

The water is running down his face like tears, cutting over the sharp definition of his face, clinging to his eyelashes delicately. "It feels good," he tells me, his voice muted. Broken. "I don't want to feel good right now."

I nod once, understanding slightly, but at the same time, my hands pull from his, run down his chest slowly. I watch their progress, looking at the contrast of my pale white, small hands on his broad, muscular golden chest.

He shudders once, and when I look back up at him, his eyes are closed, his brow furrowed.

I lean up and whisper to him gently, "I want to make you feel good, though."

His eyes snap open, golden and pained. "Just stop, Clary. This isn't you. You just…you just feel sorry for me. _Pity_ me," he says, spitting out the word.

I shake my head, my hands slipping further down his stomach. His abdomen quakes underneath my touch. "I just missed you."

He looks at me doubtfully, but mixed in with his dull grief and his quiet pain is crumbling resolve and desire.

"Let me prove it to you," I say, my hands going even lower, touching him where he needs to be touched.

Immediately, Jace's face tightens, his hands flying out, bracing against the wall on either side of me, his head bowing, his breathing becoming shallow.

I feel warm, all over—from the shower, from the desire, from the pleasure of _his_ pleasure.

Then he's kissing me, and it's hot and intense and needy. His hand gropes blindly, and a moment later, the shower water has stopped and he's picking up, dragging me out into the bathroom.

"Bedroom," he mutters against my lips.

And I just nod, already too lost in him to care where it happens—as long as it happens.

* * *

I lay comfortably in his arms, afterwards. After a few hours of kisses and touches and soft sounds of pleasure and gentle thrusting.

We've both calmed now, and we simply bask in the afterglow, lying in the darkening room that is rain-streaked from the downpour outside.

Jace's hand rests lightly on my shoulder, and I have my head on his chest, tracing lines down his stomach, smiling slightly when I hit a sensitive spot and he tenses.

But the rain outside runs down over the windows like tears, constantly, and there's no escaping the feeling of sorrow in the room. It's everywhere, tainting everything, and the storm is only a physical representation of that, a reminder.

I situate myself so my head is resting on his shoulder, looking up at him. He turns his head. Our noses brush.

"I'm sorry," I say.

He inhales deeply, turns his head back again so he's staring deadly up at the ceiling. "Don't be sorry for something that isn't your fault."

I press my lips together for a moment, dropping my eyes down to his collarbone, tracing it with my finger. "I'm just sorry it had to happen to you—again."

His hand trails up my back slowly, and his chest hitches, shaky. But when he speaks, his voice comes out quiet but strong. "Me, too."

* * *

**Did y'all see that coming? Be honest please! (: I will respond to last night's/today's reviews later in the evening because I have somewhere to be. But I shall respond to everyone tonight! (:  
**


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N: Enjoy, y'all. You guys are amazing. Over 800 reviews. WOW.**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Four

In the middle of the night, I feel Jace wake with a gasp. I know he's had a bad dream, so in the darkness, my hand searches for his and finds it—cold and clammy. I intertwine our fingers and feel his breathing settle down.

I ask, in the darkness around us, "How do you feel?"

He says, "Like I'm drowning."

It's so dark that I can't see anything, and the black is comforting. Safe. So when he asks, "You?" I don't hesitate to say, "I'm glad you're home. And I won't let you drown."

And then he shifts until I feel his hair tickling my chin, feel his cheek press to my chest, and we fall asleep like that, with me running my fingers lightly over his neck, until he's completely still.

* * *

"Can I get you anything?" I ask him.

He's sitting on the couch, his hair a mess because he hasn't bothered to brush it. He's still in his pajama pants, even though it's noon. Abel is in his lap, purring happily at being reunited, and Jace is petting him methodically, his eyes a million miles away.

"No," he says.

I hesitate for a moment before walking over to him, sitting down next to him. We don't speak for a long time after that, and only Abel's soft little meows for more petting fill the air.

Then, out of nowhere, Jace murmurs, "He was like my father, you know."

"I know."

"He treated me better than my own father."

"I know," I repeat.

"I…" Jace opens his mouth to continue, but nothing else comes, nothing but pained intake of breath, and his eyes are getting glassy, glazed over with pain and anguish. "It's just…it's the worst feeling in the world to have your father look at you and for you to only see disappointment in his eyes—like he's disgusted by the mere sight of you."

"Jace," I murmur, my hand going out, resting lightly on his tense back.

"I know why he hates me," Jace says in a shaky voice, still looking down at Abel in his lap. I see one tear fall, land on the cat's fluffy fur. "He hates me because I'm weak. I _am_ weak. I mean—fucking look at me."

"Jace, you aren't weak. You've just lost someone very close to you—_again_. It's normal to feel this way," I tell him, scooting closer, wrapping my arm around his shaking shoulders.

"No, I am. I am weak, Clary. You don't understand. Some people…some people can lose people—they can mourn and then they can move on. But this… But I _can't_. I can _feel_ it. I can feel the pain just eating at me, and I know—I fucking _know_—that I'm not going to be able to get through this, Clary. I know it. It's just gonna tear me apart, because I can't fucking hold it together anymore."

And then he cries—these quiet, agonized sobs that he tries to hold in but he can't and it just makes it worse when he tries to hide it. His head dips forward, ashamed, but I don't know why.

Because, for the first time, it's the most human he's ever seemed to me.

And it's strangely, horribly beautiful.

* * *

"How's she doing?" I inquire of Doctor Garroway.

The nice looking older man eyes the charts and then Celine, who is lying motionlessly in the infirmary bed, her eyes closed, her face at peace—for the moment.

"She's not responding much. Seems to be in some sort of coma, but like a lot of Guardian injuries and ailments, we don't have many other cases to base it on. I can't really tell you anything new, except that her brain function is still fine. It just…well, frankly, it appears like she's simply sleeping," the doctor says.

I glance up at Jace, who is standing across from me, across the bed, his arms crossed, his lips turned down as he stares at his mother.

"Thank you," I tell the doctor, and he nods and walks briskly away, leaving us in the high-ceilinged, airy room with the smell of sickness hanging in the air.

There are rows of windows, high, high up on the walls, letting in rainy light that casts down over the rows of empty white beds. The whole room is in varying shades of gray, muted and sorrow-drenched.

"Jace, why don't we go back up to the room?" I ask, arching my brows.

His eyes never leave his mother, her unlined, pretty face as she slumbers. "Do you think she's going to wake up?" he asks me.

"I don't know," I tell him, honestly, because now is not the time to be lying to him.

"She looks sad," he says.

And when I glance back down at Celine, I can see that—that underneath that tranquility could be some grief. Grief over Samuel, I suppose.

Then my eyes find Jace again as he stares at his mother. I stare at him. I stare at the bulge of his muscles straining agaist his t-shirt as he crosses his arms, at the strong line of his jaw, at the way, even in his pain, he still manages to look sturdy, unwavering.

"You're not weak," I say, which surprises him enough for his eyes to flicker up, meet mine. "You aren't. I know you think you are, but you aren't."

He looks at me, his face neutral, and then he tilts his head, just a bit. "How do you know that?"

I shrug. "I just do."

"You're full of bullshit," he replies, looking back down at Celine.

"You know me well enough now to know I don't say things like that without meaning them."

He clenches his jaw but doesn't respond.

"Clary!"

I wince, turning towards the familiar voice, and Simon is jogging up to me, looking concerned. He doesn't even seem to notice Jace, just as Jace doesn't notice him.

"I'm glad to see you," Simon murmurs, frowning. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say quickly, my eyes skirting over to Jace, to make sure he's not paying attention. He doesn't need anything else on his plate at the moment.

"I just… I was worried about you. You never did answer the door when I knocked, and I thought maybe…well, after what happened, it just seemed—"

"Simon," I snap, a low warning in my voice.

But it's too late.

Jace is already half turned towards Simon, a strange spark in his eyes. "What happened?"

Simon's eyes dance from me, to Jace, and back. "Oh…um. Nothing. It was nothing."

"You lying to me?" Jace asks, his voice dangerously quiet as he begins moving, stalking around the bed with his eyes honed in on Simon, so dark and intent that Simon takes a few steps back.

"N-no, sir. I just…it was nothing."

"Tell me," Jace orders.

"Simon, why don't you go?" I ask swiftly, trying in vain.

"Simon, if you move one muscle, I'm going to beat the living shit out of you," Jace tells him, and Simon jerks to a halt. "You don't listen to her. Listen to me. _What_ happened?"

Simon wets his lips, his eyes darting back to me, helplessly, before returning to Jace. "I…well, the other day…Malachi—I found, Clary. And Malachi. In the bathroom because…well, he attacked her."

Jace stops a few breaths away from Simon, his aura thrumming with violence. "What do you mean—he attacked her?"

"He…he was trying to…he was trying to violate her, sir," Simon whispers hoarsely, looking down to his feet.

"Trying to?" Jace asks.

"I found him—before."

Jace's jaw clenches again, the muscles feathering, as he looks back at me. Our eyes lock, his livid with rage but burning cold. "He attacked you?"

I swallow, my mouth dry, and my silence is all Jace needs for confirmation.

He nods once, his lip curling as he turns back to Simon. "Where is he?"

"W-who?"

"Malachi, you dumb shit."

Simon winces just a little. "He's…he's in his apartment—on lock down, until he gets sent outside the Wall."

And then Jace is moving, his stride purposeful and intimidating. "I'll be back," he announces quietly.

I'm running after him. "Jace, wait!"

He doesn't listen to me, just keeps walking, and I have no choice but to follow him.

* * *

"Don't do this," I beg, now that we're on Malachi's floor.

Jace's pace has picked up and I have to run to keep up.

"Jace, come on. This is unnecessary," I mutter, grabbing for his arm.

He jerks away from me sharply, turning on me so suddenly that I run into his chest. "Unnecessary? He tried to…he tried to…" Jace's face contorts, and I see him swallow, hard, before his eyes burn down into mine and he murmurs, very clearly, "Don't try to stop me from doing what needs to be done."

"Jace—"

"Just let me fucking do this, Clary!" he yells, his face turning red before he's turning and walking down the hall again, leaving me to jog after him.

We arrive at Malachi's door and Jace beats at it, not knocking so much as slamming.

It opens a few seconds later, a younger Guardian I don't know appearing. His eyes go wide when he sees Jace. "Oh, uh, hey."  
"Where is he?" Jace asks shortly.

"He's sleeping, I think. I'm just watching him—you know, to make sure he doesn't go anywhere," the boys says, nervously.

"You making sure that no one comes to pay him a visit, too?" Jace inquires, shifting his weight slightly.

The boy blinks rapidly. "Oh…um…"

"Let me answer for you—no." Jace jerks his chin. "Get out of my way."

"Oh, but I don't think I'm really supposed to let—"

"Get out of my way," Jace growls so convincingly that before he's even finished, the boy's jumping from the threshold, allowing us entry.

Jace stalks across the room, throws the bedroom door open, and I trail after him hesitantly.

By the time I'm in the doorframe, Jace is already at the bed, hauling Malachi out of it.

Then, there's the sound of crushing bone as Jace's fist slams into Malachi's nose. The older man groans, collapsing to the ground, but Jace is grabbing him back up by his shirt, punching him again, this time in the ribs.

I watch as Jace proceeds to beat the man to a bloody pulp. Having never before been exposed to such raw violence, I stand and watch in horror, the whole incident the most disturbing thing I've seen since coming here—since…ever, perhaps.

Jace takes out all his rage on everything—not just my attack. I can see it in the way he's almost crying as he kicks the man and knees him and elbows him, using a barrage of moves I can't even follow they are so swift.

And then, when Malachi is unrecognizable, his face so swollen and broken that it hardly looks human, Jace slams him against the wall, puts his face right next to the shattered one, and says, "I should fucking kill you—and I would, if I didn't think that it would be like a gift, considering where you're going."  
Malachi just moans.

Jace's knee jerks up, catching Malachi in the stomach once more before letting him go, letting him crumple to the ground. "Hope you rot in hell," Jace remarks before turning towards me, grabbing my arm, and pulling me away from the room, from the groans of pain and the shocked eyes of the young Guardian watcher.

* * *

"Will you get in trouble?" I ask, finishing up with the ointments I've been putting on Jace's bloody, raw knuckles.

"No," he says, shifting on our couch. "Valentine isn't going to do anything to me."

I nod, relieved, even though I knew he most likely would feel no repercussions. I say, "Thank you."

Jace sighs. "I should have been here to protect you—not avenge you."

"Nothing happened."

"It could have."

"But it didn't," I say.

Jace stares down at his hands, which hang between his knees as he leans forward. Then he looks over at me, his face a little gaunt because he hasn't been eating. "Why are you being so nice, Clary? I told you I didn't want your pity."

"I don't pity you, Jace. Sometimes, bad things just happen to us. Bad things have happened to me before, and there was never anyone there to help me through it. My mother…she was always off, trying to make a living for us. So it was just me. And I see, that despite everyone around you, it's just you, too. And…and I don't want it to just be you," I say, but what I add silently is

I don't want it to just be me anymore, too.

* * *

**And now, most of this grief-stuff will be put on hold for a while. The next chapter will be a few weeks later, I'm thinking, and we'll get back to the plot. Just had to focus on some character stuff! (: So did y'all like Jace's reaction to Malachi? I know I saw a lot of concern about that. I hope I did it justice! **


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N: For the person that wrote to me in Hebrew. WOW! That was totally amazing. I had to copy-and-paste into Google Translate and it kind of butchered it, but still, I got the general idea! THANK YOU SO MUCH! You're amazing! All of y'all are amazing. I know I say it all the time, but it's true... ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Whoa! You guys just rock my socks off! Enjoy! Only one chapter tonight! SORRY :(****  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Five

**Two Days Later**

Samuel's funeral is the same as Sebastian's—the same words, the same procedure, the same people dressed in the same things.

But what's not the same is the heavy grief Jace is carrying—double pain, from the loss of Samuel and the loss of his mother, though she still remains breathing, just not _here_.

What's not the same is the way Izzy is on one side of him, hugely pregnant, and holding tightly onto his arm as she sniffles and cries, blowing her nose loudly enough to draw a few people's attention during the priest's words.

What's not the same is the way I hold Jace's hand throughout the whole thing.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

Despite what Jace said, he does go on. But he's not the same. Grief has a way of changing a person forever, I suppose. I see it in my mother, in the way she hardly resembles the woman I used to know. She gets up every morning, gets dressed in the same impeccable way she always has, but she's different—inside.

Jace is, too.

The grief is still a raw open wound, and it's harder for him to hide the change. I see it in everything he does, in the way he goes training more than ever to try to get his mind of things, in the way he'll be staring into space sometimes, this pained look on his face, in the way every time we are together, practically, he needs to be inside me. We have more sex than ever. More sex, less talking.

I thought that's what I wanted a few months ago.

Now, I kind of miss the talking.

In a way.

The headboard creeks as I grip it. The sound of the wood groaning and slamming into the wall is almost as erotic as our pants and soft moans as they fill the air.

I'm sitting atop Jace, straddling him, moving up and down over his hard length, taking him in time and time again. He's leaning back against the headboard, his hands lying by his sides as he watches me.

Despite what I might have first thought when I came here, he likes when I take control. But I suppose, this is not really me being in control. The way I'm riding him urgently, frantically searching for release, desperately needing him, more of him, all of him—that's not control. He likes watching all this unfold, I think.

"Oh, fuck, Clary," he groans suddenly, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes closing. I feel his hands gripping my hips, his fingers digging into my skin. "You feel so good."

I move over him harder, faster, needing more. I can't get enough of this feeling, of feeling him so hard and thick inside me. I glance down, watching as my body continuously stretches over him, taking him in.

"I love it when you do that, when you watch us like that," he says quietly, his hands tightening even more against my hips.

I moan, moving myself more urgently than ever. Each time we are together this way, I need him more. It's not a feeling that ever lessens. I just need him all the time. I need to feel him inside me constantly, as much as he needs it, too. It's frightening how addicted to this I've become, how close it makes me feel to him. It's hardly the only time he'll speak, the only time he looks anything other than grief-stricken.

"Jace," I gasp, my hips bucking wildly because I'm so close. So, so close. "Oh, Jace, please." My words are starting to become panicked, unintelligible. Rambling. This happens more and more frequently we when we are together like this. I always start pleading for him, begging him. I don't like the loss of control, but I can't help it.

"Shit, Clary, I—" But I don't hear the rest. His voice alone has triggered my release, and I'm closing my eyes, tilting my head back, feeling his fingers dig harshly into my flesh.

My whole body jerks, and my walls clamp down on him just as he erupts inside me, hot and thick and powerful, while he buries his face into my neck. I roll my hips, against his, both of us groaning. And then we are both still, me collapsing against his chest, our heavy breathing filling the air.

I press my sweaty cheek to his even sweatier chest, listening to his heart pound frantically beneath, and I smile tiredly.

I feel Jace's hand run up my back, grasping my hair at the nape of my neck gently, tilting my head to the side so that he can place his lips right at my ear. I expect him to say something, but he doesn't. He just kisses me. He kisses my earlobe and then places a few hot, wet kisses down my neck, across the top of my shoulder.

"Mm," I hum against his chest, my eyes shut tightly because this is the first time he's done this in weeks—kissed me after, when it's no longer necessary.

He retraces his kisses, running back up my neck now. If he's not careful, he's going to get both of us aroused again. For the fourth time this evening.

But then he puts his lips at my ear. And this time he does speak. He whispers three whisper-quiet little words that stun me. "I love you."

I jerk away from him, my hands pushing at his chest, keeping me from falling sideways. He slips out of me. My mouth is hanging open, my eyes wide, my whole body frozen. The cold shock is chasing away the warmth of ecstasy in my body, and I'm left speechless.

Jace stares back at me, his eyes slightly guarded, his expression hard to read. He's doing this on purpose, hiding his emotions from me.

I feel the hand he has resting on my hip move, slip down, and then I feel him touching me _there_, easing a finger inside me teasingly. I react immediately, my body still super sensitive to him, my eyes fluttering shut. I rock onto his finger despite myself, groaning softly.

He's trying to distract me.

He's trying to distract me from the horrible thing he has just said.

"Jace," I say, but it's more of a moan because he's added a second finger.

_No_, I think. We need to talk about this. We need to sort this—

"Oh!" I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut tighter as he moves his fingers just right, just the way I like it.

And then the phone rings shrilly, cutting through my lusty, confused haze.

Jace removes his fingers, curling them slightly as he goes, making me squeak in pleasure, and then he's rolling me gently off of him and picking up the phone. "Hello?"

I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

What is happening?

"I'll be there in a second," Jace says to the person on the phone. Then he's getting out of bed, pulling his pants on hastily.

"What's wrong?" I whisper to him, watching as he finds his discarded shirt and pulls it over his head.

"The 9th border was breeched an hour ago." He's throwing on his shoes now, not looking at me. "They think it's a demon. I have to check it out."

"Oh." I sit up slowly, running my fingers through my messy hair, trying to decide why I feel so much worry all of a sudden.

"I'll be back in a couple days, most likely," he murmurs, walking away—towards the door.

He'll be gone in two seconds, and I think. I can gather my thoughts of what I should do, how I should respond.

But then something horrible happens.

I blurt out, "Wait!" and I'm scrambling out of the bed, running across the room after him.

He hesitates by the door and turns just his head back towards me. His eyes roam over my uncovered my body once before they meet mine. His gaze is as hesitant as his mannerisms, and this glimpse of vulnerability steal my logic away. "What?" he inquires.

I see my hand reaching for him, smoothing over his cheek, down his jaw. His eyes close briefly, almost peacefully, at my touch, and I say, "Be careful."

Jace's eyes find mine again, and they are burning, intrusive and curious. He doesn't respond with words to my farewell. He only grabs the hand I have on his face, moves it to his lips, and he presses a warm kiss to my fingertips. Then he smiles—the first time in weeks and weeks, even if it is just the ghost of a once beautiful smile—and he's gone.

* * *

**Two Weeks Later**

I wake with the most disturbing sense of nausea.

I fall out of bed, running towards the bathroom as fast as I can, making it to the toilet just in time to vomit copiously into the bowl.

It's over as soon as it began, and I'm left slumped over the commode, a light sheen of sweat on my skin.

I wish Jace were back.

* * *

The sickness happens every morning.

I'm cramping often but never bleeding, as usual.

I realize the signs, but I refuse to listen to them. Because it can't be a baby. I've taken the pill at each interval, and they perfected it years ago. No more chances at getting pregnant while taking it—not as long as you don't miss it, and I haven't.

So I can't be pregnant.

I can't be.

* * *

"I'm pregnant!" I scream at my mother, at the top of my lungs, my heart pounding in disbelief. But it's true. I saw the test myself. The doctor swore to me it was true.

It was true.

I want to cry.

Mother stares at me, and she doesn't even look shocked. That's when I know. Something inside of me clicks into place, and I see the signs.

_Just trust me_, she said.

I blink, tears in my eyes, and I feel my fingers tremble as I level my gaze with my mother's across our old apartment—the one she now resides in by herself. "You knew. You…you did this on purpose."

Mother just inhales once, a pained look crossing her face. "Clary—"

"You…you gave me something else—not birth control the last time, didn't you?" I whisper, and my lips are trembling now, making my words come out shaky.

"Yes," Mother says gravely.

"What…why…why did you do this to me?" I demand of her, and I'm very close to crying now, even though I haven't in a long time now—not huge, big tears.

"I had to, Clary." Mother's brow creases and she walks forward towards me, raising her hands as if to touch me, but she doesn't. She's too far away. "It's part of the plan."

"Then why the _fuck_ didn't you tell me?" I demand, my horror shattering and giving way to blinding anger—hurt, disappointment, a broken trust.

"Clary," Mother admonishes, because despite everything, she's still a mother that doesn't like curses coming from her daughter's mouth.

"Why didn't you tell me, Mother?" I cry so loudly that I know everyone in the apartment can hear through the paper-thin walls. But I don't care. I don't care about anything but the thing I know is growing inside me, but the complete betrayal I feel by my mother.

"I didn't because I knew you wouldn't do this, Clary. But I gave you these few months. If I hadn't, you would have been pregnant in the first few weeks—and I didn't want that for you, even though it's important. I gave you these months so you could at least be slightly fond of Jace—and I know you are. I see it in you."

"Do not justify your actions by saying anything about it was for my good," I growl, my finger pointing at her. It moves around wildly. "It was only to keep me from hating you completely. It was only a way to make yourself feel better about _lying_ to me. And Jace isn't horrible, but I sure as hell don't want his child!"

"Clary, this is necessary to the mission. It always has been. You would have never made it another month without producing an heir. Valentine would have had your thrown out."

"So the whole thing is just to keep me around longer?" I demand. "You let me get knocked up just so the mission wouldn't be compromised?"

"There's more to it than that, Clary," Mother whispers, frowning. There's this detachment in the way she speaks, as if she doesn't really care about my feelings at all. And seeing the look in her eyes, I don't think she does. I don't think she has one thought about me, about how I feel.

It's all about the mission now. It's possessed her, taken hold and is slowly choking the life out of her, choking the humanity and the mothering instinct she once had.

I feel more empty than I have in a long, long time.

"What else is there?" I ask, dejected and tired all of a sudden. My hand goes to my stomach, where Jace's _child_ is growing in me, and I feel sick.

"I can't tell you yet—not until I know you can handle it."

"I don't have much choice at this point, do I? There's no turning back from this, Mother. There's no getting away from this—from this kid." I bite my lip and run my hands angrily throught my hair. "Jesus. Why did you _do_ this to me? How, Mom? How could you do this to me?" I hate the way my voice breaks, so vulnerable and hurt, putting everything out there without meaning to, showing her how much this decision of hers has wounded me.

I don't like showing it because her reaction will be even worse than my weakness. Because she will simply blink like it bounces right off her because it _does_ bounce right off of her and that makes the vulnerability so much worse.

And she does everything I fear. "Clary, this is for the greater good, remember?"

"FUCK THE GREATER GOOD!" I scream at the top of my lungs.

"Clary, stop yelling."

"Don't tell me what to do! You can't tell me everything! You can't except me not to be scared because I don't want this kid! I didn't even want to be married and now I have both and you never even told me. You never gave me a chance to say no. You never gave me a chance, Mother! I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you," I cry.

All throughout, she remains stoic until I can't breathe anymore, and then it's silent and she simply tells me, "When the time is right, I will let you know the rest of the plan. Until then, proceed as planned. Everything will work out in the end, Clary. Trust me."

But I've already made the mistake of trusting her once before.

* * *

**So Clary is finally with child. Obviously not a surprise. But tell me what y'all are most excited for? If anything. Haha**


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N: So wow. So MANY reviews, and I love it! So many new faces. So much support and questions and ahhhh! I freaking love it! I want to hear more! Y'all are just the best ever. SO AWESOME. Seriously. For the people who are calling Clary and Jace's baby Little Jace and Jace Junior and Clace-Junior-y'all crack me up! HAHAH! And for the people reading this that are all over the world, WOW! I'm amazed! Thank y'all all for everything!  
**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Six

After I come home, I get sick again. I'm not sure now if it's because of the child or the confrontation with my mother—whom I've never yelled at so hatefully.

I don't understand her anymore. I don't understand how she could do this.

But I suppose, in a way, I do.

She's obsessed now. She doesn't even see her own actions as wrong.

I clean myself up and strip down to just my bra and panties and then put on a housecoat, wrapping it tight around me after I wash all my makeup off and undo my hair.

I find myself sitting on the couch, with Abel weaving around my feet, incessantly meowing because he misses Jace when he's gone, and then I open the strings of my robe a bit to look down at my flat stomach. Flat for now.

My hand rests against it lightly, and I feel all fluttery and disturbed at the thought of something _growing_ in me at this very moment. It isn't comforting to me at all. It scares me. It's so out of my control.

I feel sick again.

That's when the door to the apartment opens.

Abel shoots over because we both know it's him.

Jace slips into the room, careful not to let the bouncing cat out into the hall. He's preoccupied, looking down at Abel with just the faintest hint of a smile, and I take him in—the mess of his blond hair, the dirt and dried sweat on his gold skin, the beauty of him.

I wonder if the child will favor him or me. Or both. For a moment, I catch myself imagining it—what it will look like. But the thought is just as disturbing as the child being inside my stomach now, so I think of something else.

Jace is crouching down, now, letting Abel jump all over him, and then his eyes flicker up to me.

I stand, smile frailly, and pull the housecoat tight around me. "Hi."

Jace's eyes are still beautifully gold, but they are no longer warm. Just empty. "Hi," he replies and then gets back to his feet. "I'm taking a shower."

He brushes past without another word, and I nod. "Oka—"

The door to the bedroom slams before I can even finish the word.

Sighing, I drop back down the couch, and Abel ambles back over to me, deciding I'm better than nothing—no Jace but still someone that will give him a back rub.

As I scrub roughly at the little cat's fur as he rolls around and purrs, I think of how to handle all of this—so much that is happening.

He said I love you. I didn't say it back.

I'm pregnant with his child. I have to tell him.

So many things that need to be dealt with but I have no clue how. Lying and conning and slipping around—those are the things I'm better at. But the truth? The truth is horrifying.

* * *

I go into the bedroom and wait for him, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed as I pick at my nails—a childhood habit I thought I kicked.

When he emerges from the shower with only a flimsy towel wrapped around his waist, I stand, readying to confront him about everything.

But he doesn't give me the chance.

He just walks right over and pulls me to his still shower-wet body and kisses me, his lips almost brutal against mine.

I gasp just slightly before my body is reacting to him, my hands lifting up and twining in his damp curls, my lips parting so that my tongue can dart out and taste him.

His hands come up, cupping my face, his warm, calloused skin both comforting and exciting against my softness before his fingers twist into the hair at the nape of my neck and pull my head back sharply, making me gasp again and close my eyes because Jace's lips are skimming hotly down my chin, to my throat, and over to my pounding pulse.

"I missed you, Clary," Jace whispers against my ear before he's suddenly lifting me, laying me out on the bed and grasping my hips, moving his lips up my stomach.

I don't know what's happened for his sudden change of heart to take place, but I can't say that I dislike it—even if I don't understand it.

I shut my eyes for a moment, take a shuddering breath, and force myself to say, "I have some news for you, Jace."

He lifts his head slightly, looking up my body at me. There's just a little bit of that old devious glint in his eyes, a half smile cocking his lips—and that look. It makes me almost crazy. It's not the same as it used to be. It's dulled, muted, not as intense because _he's_ not as intense anymore. It's almost like he's acting.

"Do you?" he murmurs, before kissing my bellybutton. Then he drags his lips lower, to the top of my panties, and then back and forth, over my hipbones.

I'm trying not to squirm, trying to keep my hands from grabbing his hair and holding his head to me, pushing him lower, where I want his lips the most.

"Tell me," he whispers hotly over my skin, and I feel his thumbs hooking into the elastic of my panties, beginning to drag them down my legs.

"I'm pregnant," I say quickly, blurting it out, before I loose my senses.

This halts him.

He freezes up, stops everything, and he's quiet for the longest moment before his head lifts, his eyes finding mine. He's absolutely stunned. Completely taken by surprise. It's the first time I've seen him look this genuinely shocked—this genuinely _anything_—in the last few weeks.

"What?" he repeats dumbly.

I sit up slightly on my elbows, so that I can see him better. "I'm pregnant, Jace."

He shifts, moving so that his head is above my navel again, and he looks down towards my quivering, flat stomach, his face hidden by his curls. I feel his small exhale of disbelieving laughter, and then his eyes are again meeting mine, a little wondering—and so bright, like there's a spark in them again.

"There's…there's a baby…here?" His hand smoothes up my stomach, covering it completely. I can see where his disbelief stems from. I'm much too tiny there, it would seem, to be harboring a child.

"Your baby," I correct softly, nodding a little.

His eyebrows arch, his eyes dropping back down to my belly. He stares at it for a long time, his lips slightly parted in amazement, and he looks so young in that moment.

I close my eyes.

_How am I going to do this?_ I think. _How am I going to deal with him when he seems so amazed and finally—_finally—_not grief-stricken?_

Then I feel his lips on my stomach, feel him as _he_ corrects _me_. "_Our_ baby."

That's it. I can no longer control my hands.

They grab for his hair, tightening in his silken curls, pulling his head up towards mine so I can crush my lips to his.

Our kiss is hot and invasive and long, desperate. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him firmly against me, and I feel him—hard against my dampened panties.

"Shit, Clary," he groans against my mouth, pulling away just a little to look down at me. His pupils are dilated, his face excited—and it's so beautiful, so wonderful to see him look like this again. "I want you so bad right now."

"Then take me," I whisper, smoothing my hands down his tense back and over his bottom.

He presses roughly against me, making me cry out softly, and his forehead falls against mine, his eyes closing tightly, painfully. His breathing is so rough that he sounds agonized. I feel his hands on my hips, twisting the fabric of my panties restlessly in his grasp. "But. The baby…I don't…don't want to hurt him—or her."

Our hips are undulating now, our bodies pressing together in a familiar, sexy rhythm.

"It won't," I manage to get out, rather desperately. I'm already reaching between us, undoing his towel. "I asked the doctor."

"C-Clary," he gasps into my neck when my hand closes around his length, freeing him. I feel my panties get torn away roughly, and I smile.

"Jace," I whisper.

And then he's slamming into me, filling me so completely that I scream slightly, my legs tightening around him. He feels so good, so strong. I love this feeling. It's the best feeling in the world, I think.

"Oh, fuck, Clary, fuck," he mutters into my neck, his voice shaky. I like how he gets like this sometimes—needy. It makes me feel glad to know that I'm not the only one that gets overwhelmed by this delicious feeling. "I love you, Clary. I love you so fucking much."

He doesn't give me a chance to answer because he's pulling out of me, almost all the way, and thrusting back into me roughly. I scream again, and then he's telling me he likes that, likes when I scream his name, to do it again. So I do. I scream his name until my voice is hoarse, I claw down his back until he's shaking, and he pounds into me until I'm delirious.

But all the while, there's a voice in the back of my head.

It repeats the same thing, over and over.

_I love you, too_.

* * *

I didn't mean it.

Of course I didn't.

It just was in my mind as a reflex. Because it's almost impossible not to _think_ I love him when he's ramming into me like that, saying dirty things, biting and kissing me. It was more overwhelming this time because he hadn't been like that in so long. He was like his old self for a few hours, and it made me nostalgic.

That was all.

As we lay together after, the sheets tangled around us, with me tucked into his side, his arm around me, I think of how pathetic I am. Because I'm doubting myself now. I'm doubting everything, and I'm scared.

Jace's index finger draws idle circles on my shoulder, and he says, out of the blue, "How do you feel?"

I know this isn't what he's looking for, but I don't know how I feel now so I say, "I'm tired."

His hand moves up to my hair now, twirling the strands between his fingers. "How are we going to do this, Clary?"

"Do what?"

"Be parents."

"I don't know," I whisper, closing my eyes, trying to block all such thoughts out.

"I'm scared," he says, mirroring my feelings without even realizing it. "I'm fucking terrified."

"Me, too," I admit.

"What if we're awful?"

"I'm sure we will be."

"Our poor kid."

Despite everything, I laugh just slightly at this because it's the way he said it, and I'm a little delirious after everything that's happened. And then I keep laughing and laughing until I'm sure Jace thinks I've lost my mind.

And when I finally quiet a little, Jace inquires, "Do you want a girl or a boy?"

"I don't care." I want to say, _neither_, but he won't understand that. "You?"

"I don't care, either. I just want him or her to be healthy, I guess," he murmurs, sounding a little distant, which reminds of how he's been the past few weeks, and it makes me sad because I wonder if he'll go back to that.

I run my hand over his chest, down his stomach, tracing the ridges of muscle there. "I think you'll be a good father," I say, because I want to distract him back into the present, if he's trying to fall back into the past. Despite everything that is happening, I don't want him to be consumed by his grief again, not when he's trying to pull myself out of that dark pit.

"Really?" he asks, a little hopefully.

"Yeah. The way you are with Abel—that's good. My mother used to say that a man that loved his mother and animals would be a good husband and father," I tell him. "You love both."

Jace mulls this over for a moment. I think he might ask me more about the baby—God forbid he ask about names already, I think I might fully panic if he does—but he surpries me and asks, "Did you ever know your father?"

I debate on answering for a few seconds, unsure if I want to go here with him. But then I make my decision. "No."

"Did your mother ever tell you anything about him?"

"Just that he was a human—just that he left her when she got pregnant." I shift a little, pressing my cheek harder against Jace's chest. I can hear his steady heartbeat beneath my ear. "I think she must have really loved him. She has this little box of things he gave her under her bed—I caught her looking in it sometimes, at night when she thought I was asleep. She always cried."

Jace is thoughtfully quiet for a few seconds. "Do you ever want to know him?"

"No. He's never been a factor in my life. He obviously never wanted anything to do with me—or my mother, after he got what he wanted. It just…it weighted heavy on my mother. Her own father left her, too, when she was very young—but not young enough to never have known him."

Jace inhales once. "That's…awful."

I shrug, unsure of what else to do.

Then we fall into silence again as the room around us turns dark with night, the lights of the city shinning in, golden and flashing and warm.

"Jace, about what you said—" I begin suddenly, because I've finally gotten the courage to mention it.

He stiffens a little. "Don't. I don't want to talk about it."

I shift until I'm lying on top of him, looking down at his beautiful face. "But we need to."

"No, we don't," he replies quietly. "What's there to talk about, Clary? I love you. You know I do. You've known it for a while, now, I think."

I don't respond because it's true, and he keeps going.

"You don't love me back. I understand that. So there's nothing left to talk about. We already know how we feel."

But I don't think I _do_ know how I feel. Everything is jumbled within me, worrying my stomach into knots.

Jace's hand comes up, surprising me in the gentle way he caresses my cheek, brushing my hair away. His eyes meet mine, and they are finally _here_ and still grief-filled but not as much. Because he's moving on even when he thought he couldn't, but I knew he could.

He's strong.

"You might not love me now, Clary," he says, his hand moving to the back of my neck, pulling my face down so that our lips almost touch and his eyes become my whole world, "But maybe one day."

And then I kiss him, to shut him, and we get caught up in the desire and no more words are spoken for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Okay. So I already have Jace and Clary's baby's gender picked. I'm just curious, and I like hearing from y'all. So, what do Y'ALL want Jace and Clary's baby to be? I'm not going to change my mind, but I would like to hear y'all's thoughts. Also, I already have the name picked out, too, but I just want to see what y'all come up with. So what name would y'all like the baby to have? Isabelle's having a girl, by the way, so what do y'all want to name her? Because I don't actually have a name for her!**


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N: Almost 1,000 reviews. CAN YOU SAY SHOCKED? OVERWHELMED? FREAKING OUT? RESISTING THE URGE TO SQUEAL? Anyway, as for the whole baby name thing... that's the last time I open my big fat mouth and ask y'all stuff. Because everyone's answers were so awesome and there were so many good ideas and so much feedback, and I can only pick a few names, and I'm feeling the pressure, and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, and AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! No one hate me, please! I liked reading everyone's responses, too, because it gave me an excuse to go off on these longs rambles about what this name means to me and how I had a stuffed cat with freakishly large head that I named that and blah, blah, blah. I probably bored y'all poor things to death.**

**Also, the person that keeps making cake references? Yeah, you! You need to create an account so I can respond to you directly. **

**I had other things to say, other people to mention that said very clever stuff to me, but I've forgotten it all because I'm sleepy and have a bad memory. It in no way reflects your level cleverness. Just to be clear.**

**OH! I do remember one other thing! Somebody said that I should name Izzy's kid Ariel because Sebastian was the father. HAHA! Revel in the wit, y'all. That's freaking hilarious, I don't care who you are.**

**Oh, oh! And another one! I'm on a roll! Someone said that they want Clary and Jace to have a boy so that Clary can make said boy into a mama's boy and rub it Jace's face. Also hilarious!**

**Y'all crack me up!**

**You witty devils!**

**As for the first part of this chapter, it really has no purpose. Just throwing that out there. It's just to show a little progression in Jace and Clary's relationship, but if you don't care, skip down to the first line break. I just felt like writing it, and if you have a problem with it, don't read it (that sounded so harsh, I didn't mean it to be, ah)! I just get the whim every once in a while to write a lighter scene, and I still find that realistic because our lives are full of ebbs and flows. Ups and downs. This, I suppose, in a way, is one of Jace and Clary's ups. But if you don't care, just skip over, like I said. (: **

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Seven

We sit with Valentine for dinner, the city around us sparkling through the window walls, the band playing its usual classic music, the Guardians milling in the dinning room making small talk.

Valentine's eyes are glowing. "Well, I simply think the news is wonderful."

"We knew you would," Jace mutters from the chair next to mine. He's sprawled out, looking bored and disheveled.

Aline is eyeing him hungrily, which brings an aggressive sense of possessiveness up inside me, makes me rest my hand on his knee—a way of saying _mine_—which is completely unlike me. And rather pointless, seeing as how she can't see my hand resting on him underneath the table.

"I'm just saddened that I had to hear it from Doctor Garroway instead of yourself, Jonathan," Valentine murmurs, sighing and shaking his head.

"I just found out yesterday," Jace grumbles. "Excuse me if I wanted to spend time with my wife instead of telling you and watching your little victory dance."

Valentine just huffs, not bothered in the least because he's getting what he wants. "Here's to a boy!" He raises his flute of champagne and every other Guaridan at the table does the same—everyone except myself, because I'm with child, and Jace, because he's making a statement.

"Can we go now?" Jace asks his father when the rest of table gets caught up in their own shallow gossiping.

"No," Valentine answers coolly, folding a napkin into his lap. "You're soon to be the leader of the Guardianship, Jonathan. It's time you learn to get over this aversion you have to public appearances."

"I have no aversion to public appearances. I do, however, have an aversion to the utter pretentiousness and ignorance of most the Guardians in this hotel."  
His words shock me.

Valentine, however, just looks aggravated, as if he's irritated at the fact that Jace will not allow him to wallow in his own frightening sense of accomplishment. "Don't let the others hear you say such things. It's the quickest way to loose support."

Jace's jaw tightens but he doesn't comment further. I know he's still not over Samuel's death, that his grief has robbed him mostly of his anger, and he's left with the realization that some battles just aren't worth it in the long run. This battle isn't worth it.

Aline is still eyeing Jace, and when she sees him quiet, she pipes up. "Jace, darling, how have you been?"

"Wonderful, Aline, just absolutely delightful," he replies, over-the-top, giving her a grand smile.

She bats her lashes, oblivious to his sarcasm. "That's wonderful, darling. I know you took Samuel's death quite hard."

I first look at Valentine, to judge his reaction. He doesn't give one flinch or cringe as he begins cutting into his steak.

So then I look at Jace, to make sure he's okay.

He pales drastically, but offers another smile, though this one is more sickly than sarcastic. "Yes."

"You look much better now, though, darling. Much, much better," she says, and she leans forward a bit, exposing her very obvious cleavage. Childishly, I look to my own chest and find my cleavage much more abundant.

Jace gives her a half grin that has no emotion but still manages to look attractive as he glances down at his food. He does look nice tonight. Better than nice, of course. His hair is just so messy, his tie so carelessly pulled out around the collar of his slightly crinkled dress shirt, and he stands out amongst the pressed suits and slicked back hair. And that smile…

My hand squeezes his knee once and then moves up a little.

Jace's eyes cut subtly to mine.

I feel my heart beat a little faster. Just at that look.

"How have the borders looked lately?" Aline inquires, not yet wanting to give up Jace's attention.

He looks back at her, begins to answer, and I decide I don't want to give up his attention, either, so I move my hand up even higher on his leg, resting it lightly on his crotch.

Jace makes this choked sound mid-sentence, and Aline looks alarmed. "Excuse me," he murmurs meekly, going for his water and taking a sip. "As I was saying," he tries again, and his eyes flicker to mine once.

I just arch my brows at him, and he gives a little eye-roll before turning his attention back to Aline.

"They look fine. The demons do, however, seem to be hanging around the Wall more frequently."

My pinky fingernail rakes down the zipper of his pants slowly, and he jumps a little, arching up into my touch instinctually.

"It's a little chilly in here," he manages to say, shivering, as if his sudden twitch had something to do with a cold chill. "Anyway, the demons, they seem to be—"

I'm highly amused now because I've never seen Jace look quite so flustered. And I'm also aroused because I'm feeling him grow hard beneath his pants, beneath my playing fingers. _Strongly_ aroused, which surprises me a bit.

"Fucking shit," Jace mutters, which causes Aline to cough a little, causes Valentine's attention to snap over.

I immediately place my hand back on Jace's knee, just in case he can see.

"Jonathan! Language!" Valentine snaps.

"I apologize, Aline," Jace says lowly. "I just feel a little, ah, uneasy."

I bite my lip to hide my smile.

"It's quite all right, darling," she responds, arching a brow flirtatiously, and I realize she must find his dirty mouth as appealing as I do.

I see a little red, and my hand goes back to his crotch and I grip him roughly.

He jumps, his knees crashing into the underside of the table, rattling dishes, making everyone look over at him in pure shock.

"Excuse me," he rushes out, already scooting away from the table. "I'm feeling a bit funny. I'll be back momentarily." Jace's eyes dart darkly over to mine, and I can't look at him for fear of smiling and then he's getting up and walking swiftly away, swiftly, I'm sure, so that no one can see the very obvious bulge straining the front of his pants.

He's gone only a few moments before I dare say, "I better go check on him." I say it in the sweetest voice possible and give Aline and Valentine a smile. "Excuse me."

"Of course, Clary," Valentine says.

Aline just gives me a tight smile, and I give her an even tighter one back before I sashay away, into the men's bathrooms.

As soon as I'm walking inside, Jace is grabbing me, pulling me sharply against him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growls against my jaw.

I smile, feeling the strongest desire to have him right now. Stronger than ever. As if I'm going to scream if he's not inside me right at this very second.

"I didn't like Aline looking at you," I say, as way of an explanation.

Jace's hand is suddenly gripping at my hair, yanking my head back so he can look down into my eyes, his breath hot against my open lips. "You didn't like her looking at me?"

I try to shake my head no, but I can't, not with his hold, so I say it aloud and then add, "She wants you."

He's pressing up against the wall, his knee slipping between my legs, parting them. "Does she?"

"Yes," I breathe, his lips so close to mine.

"Do _you_ want me?" he asks darkly, his eyes hot and burning and so much like they used to be.

_I feel alive_, his old words ring in my ear.

"Yes," I say, closing my eyes, breathing so hard.

Jace's hands are suddenly under my dress, jerking my panties off, and then he's shoving the skirt up around my hips with one hand and unzipping his pants with the other. I grip his upper arms, feeling how deliciously hard the muscle is there.

"I don't give a fuck about Aline, Clary," Jace mutters, and then he's sliding me up the wall, grabbing my legs and spreading them, wrapping them around his waist. "I only care about you. I only care about what _you_ want."

I'm trembling, my stomach brimming with fire and tenseness. I can't stand it so I reiterate to him, "I want _you_, Jace. Please."

I feel him smile against my jaw, and then I feel him, hard and smooth between my legs, but he's teasing me.

"Jace," I groan in frustration because tonight is not the night I want to be built up slowly.

"Oh, what? You're the only one that can be a tease, now?" he inquires, and he's grinning against my neck, and this feels so much like it used to, except better, and I'm too hazy with desire to fully appreciate this, this trip back into time when Jace wasn't as broken as he is now.

"Please," I beg, thrusting my hips towards his, but he pulls back just enough to keep me from impaling myself on him.

"Please, what?" he whispers, his lips against mine now, so I can taste his slight smirk.

"Please fuck me."

His smirk is gone, and he's jerking back from me, his eyes wide and lusty and so beautiful. His lips part in shock, but I don't care that that's the first time I've said those words to him. I don't care that he's surprised. I just keep trying to roll my hips against his and get what I want.

"What did you say?" he asks slowly, disbelieving but a little hopeful looking.

"You heard me," I say back, softly.

"Shit," is his weak response, and then he gives in, and says we should really stop doing this in the bathroom, and then I'm floating in ecstasy, watching us in the mirrors above the sinks.

* * *

We come out of the bathroom looking a little flushed, I'm sure, and we're both smiling a little more than we should be.

When we sit, Aline's eyes narrow. "Feeling better?" she inquires.

Jace gives me a sidelong look with a half smile, his eyes dark. "Much better."

* * *

I see a pattern soon after that dinner.

I see that I go through periods of needing Jace almost painfully so. My body and emotions seem to be going haywire, and I can't stand it.

Because after each episode—whether it be vomiting in the morning, or attacking Jace in the middle of the afternoon, or yelling at him until my throat is raw at night—I'm reminded of the _child_ inside me.

It reminds of everything I don't want and never have.

* * *

I sit my Celine's side, holding her cold hand, staring out the huge windows as the first flurries of snow sprinkle down from the steel-gray sky.

Jace is off at the borders again. I think he asked for the mission this time, because despite how the news of the baby has seemed to lighten his spirits a bit, his grief still haunts him—as well as his mother, who is unchanging in her coma—and he needs to get away. To feel alive. To forget.

I let my eyes flicker back to Celine, to her deceptively peaceful face.

Jace goes to see her every day he's here, despite how it wears him down. I can see it each time he comes back from sitting with her. I can see that ghostly face he wore when Samuel first died.

He has too much on him.

I have too much on me.

Everything is just too much.

I feel like I'm drowning with Jace, now.

"Celine," I say, quietly, even though the infirmary is empty. "Please wake up. Jace really needs you. I can't…I'm not enough for him—and neither is the baby. I just…maybe if you woke up, he'd be better. And maybe if you woke up, you could tell me what Samuel was going to tell me and all this wouldn't be for nothing."

I wait for a long time, hoping for her fingers to twitch around mine—something.

But there's nothing.

Of course. There's nothing.

* * *

I go Celine every day in place of Jace because he asked me to. He told me if he couldn't be there to see her, he wanted someone to see her.

I talk to her often, begging her to wake up, to give me some answers, to give Jace some comfort, but she remains the same.

Today, I try to tell her about how close Izzy is to having her baby. I hope that might jar Celine out of whatever state she's in, but it doesn't. She just lays there without one slight movement to even let me know she's still alive—no movement except the steady rise and fall of her chest.

"Thanks for coming with me today," I tell Izzy as I help her ease down into a chair beside Celine's bed.

Izzy cradles her ballooned-out stomach gently as she gets comfortable. She smiles up at me, her skin almost glowing. "Of course. I miss Aunt Celine. I should come see her more often."

"Well, you're pretty immobile these days," I tell her with a slight smile of my own, sitting down next to her.

"Yeah," she sighs, patting her stomach. "This thing gets in the way a good bit. You'll see soon enough." She gives me a big grin.

My good mood is suddenly gone. "I suppose."

"Oh, Clary. Don't be like that again. If _I_ can have a kid, you can, too. We'll do fine. We'll both work it out together—being a mom. I can be like the guinea pig. We'll learn everything _not_ to do with mine." She jabs me jokingly in the ribs, but I can't laugh.

"I'm not ready for this, Izzy," I murmur, looking down at my still deceptively flat stomach. Except I have noticed a little tightness in my dresses and skirts.

"Neither am I, as you already know. I don't think anyone ever is, Clary, but we do it anyway. And we really have an advantage. Both of our mothers aren't around. We have mom issues. But now we know what _not_ to do—how _not_ to raise our children. We have a blueprint for badness, which can be just as good as having a model of excellence."

I exhale a small, humorless laugh. "Who would have thought that out of all the people in the Wanderer, you would be the person to give the most advice?"

Izzy grins. "I know. I kind of like it—being the guru." She hesitates for a moment before asking, slowly, "So…does your mom know?"

"About it?" I ask, pointing to my stomach.

"It's not an it, Clary. It's your child," she says, rolling her eyes.

I ignore her. "Yes, she knows."

"How'd she react?"

I take a moment to choose my wordage carefully. "Unenthusiastically."

Izzy winces a bit. "Oh."

"Yes," I say, and we lapse into silence.

I watch the snow fall outside, coming down heavier now, and I wonder if it's snowing where Jace is. I wonder if he takes the time to appreciate such things. I used to, myself. I used to be amazed by every little shift in the weather. I used to stand outside in the rain and tilt my head up to the sky and breathe everything in, the wonderful world we live in. Back when I still thought it was wonderful.

"Holy shit!"

I glance over to Izzy, alarmed and a little hopeful—had Celine moved?

But Izzy is grasping at her stomach, her face screwed up in pain. "Ow."

"What is it?" I demand.

"Shit…I'm just—ow!—I just…I'm having contractions."

"W-what?" I ask, confused because I know absolutely nothing about pregnancy. It's disturbing to me that I don't know what it means.

"I'm having contractions," she repeats, not making it any less clear, and she's squirming on her chair, breathing strangely. "Oh, shit."

"Isabelle, I'm starting to panic," I say, trying to sound as calm as possible despite my statement.

"Don't…don't panic. Just get Doctor Garroway."

"Why?" I demand.

"Because…because I'm halfway sure I'm going into labor and I want to be all-the-way sure."

I'm already standing and running out of the room as quickly as I can, forgetting my lady-like manners and shooting down the halls like a man would, my old tomboy streak coming out in me.

I don't even think about it. It just happens.

* * *

**FEAR NOT! The next chapter is already up because I didn't want to leave y'all on this note. Or on an odd number! **


	58. Chapter 58

**A/N: Okay! Last one for the night! Izzy's baby's name is revealed in this chapter! I picked Alexandria Rose because I liked Alexandria in honor of Alec. And someone said Rose, and I'm a big believer in first and middle names flowing so I read off a bunch of suggestions until I read out Alexandria Rose and thought! OH! PRETTY! But everyone else's names were beautiful, and I loved them. Unfortunately, I had to pick, though, and just for this story, I thought those worked. Not saying I didn't totally love the other names thrown out there. I loved seeing the traditional names and the newer names being tossed around! GOOD STUFF, GUYS! Now, I've got stomach ulcers from the stress of having to just pick two names! THE HORROR!**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Isabelle is, in fact, in labor.

Doctor Garroway whisks her away to a surgical room, and I wait for hours and hours beside Celine, holding her unresponsive hand for something to do.

I'm worried, for some reason. I'm worried and sick because someone else should be here, too, worrying for Isabelle—Sebastian should be, Jace should be, her father should be, her brother should be, her mother should be.

But it's just me.

It's just me until Valentine appears, practically glowing. "Clary! Has she had the baby yet?"

I try not to look at him outright suspiciously. I still need to stay on good terms with him. "No, not yet. She's been gone a long time."

"These things take time," he says, pacing and being vaguely condescending.

I glare internally. "Yes, I'm aware."

At this, he pauses and glances over at me, arching a brow before cutting a smile. "It's no wonder Jonathan is such a fool for you, Clary. You're fiery. He needs that."

"He's hardly a fool for me," I state.

Valentine laughs once. "You women never do realize the full extent your hold goes over men, do you?"

I don't respond, so he looks over at me, over the cold body of his comatose wife, and has the audacity to appear bemused. "How are you feeling, Clary? Feeling well with the child?"

"Yes," I say tightly.

"It's a miracle the baby has finally been conceived. I was getting worried. Strange, though, it happened so late." He tilts his head.

"I suppose it wasn't yet meant to be," I reply.

Valentine narrows his eyes just slightly, a cold smile as sharp as a knife on his lips. "Hm. Yes, I suppose."

We stare at each other, both of us unwavering, the air thick with things unsaid, secrets yet to be revealed, when everything is shattered by the appearance of a haggard but happy looking Doctor Garroway.

"It's a girl," he announces.

* * *

"She's lovely, Isabelle!" Valentine exclaims grandly as he stares down at the tiny, crying thing cradled in Izzy's thin arms.

He's lying, of course. To me, the baby is disturbingly alien-like—red and blotchy and wrinkled with its mouth wide open, screams filling the air until it gets tired and seemingly falls asleep. It's hard to tell with its squinty little eyes whether they are shut or not.

I lie, too, though, and tell her that the baby is beautiful.

"Thanks, Uncle Valentine," Izzy murmurs tiredly, yawning. She looks awful, too—her hair mused, dark circles under her eyes, her face drawn. It's like having the baby has sucked all the precious glow from her that she had before and left only cold in its wake.

"What will you name her?" I ask curiously.

"Alexandria Rose Verlac. Alexandria for Alec, my brother, and Rose because that was Sebastian's mother's name—and he said if we were to have a girl, he'd love for Rose to be incorporated somehow," she murmurs, gazing down at her blotchy little baby lovingly. She's bone-tired, but it doesn't seem to matter to her. She's just unable to take her eyes off little Alexandria, like the wrinkly child is the center of her universe.

It makes my skin prickle to watch.

Valentine seems delighted, but not at Isabelle's new-found motherly love but at the baby itself—the baby he wanted so badly to come about.

It means something.

It's the key to everything, I think suddenly. There's something about the babies. He wants babies for a specific reason—for something horrible, no doubt, and I'm suddenly afraid.

My hand goes to my stomach.

"Well, I believe I'll take my leave now. Isabelle, she's perfect. Clary, I'm sure I will speak with you later," he says, giving us a little bow before breezing towards the door of the small, sterile surgical room.

"Wait!" I say quickly. "Jace—will you tell him Isabelle's had the child?"

"If you'd like me to," Valentine says, giving me this strange look with an even stranger smile. "In fact, I'd be delighted."

And with that, he leaves.

* * *

For the next two days, I sit mostly in the chair between Isabelle and Celine's beds in the infirmary.

Isabelle is doing wonderfully, and tomorrow, she gets to finally leave and go back to her apartment. It's not really necessary that she stays so long, but Doctor Garroway felt that if there were any complications, it would be easier to deal with them swiftly if Isabelle was close and he didn't have to go up to the 62nd floor.

However, I wonder if he just wants to make sure Isabelle is going to adjust to motherhood well.

She does.

She takes to it surprisingly easy, and she tells me that a lot of it's instinctual—that I shouldn't worry.

But I do worry. I worry because, for me, I know it won't be instinctual. That's just Isabelle—and most women in general.

* * *

"Clary?"

I gasp awake, feeling the slight nudge to my arm, and my gaze swings around the dark infirmary only illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows. I almost expect to see Celine up and about, or at least Isabelle—trying to make a jail break before time—but it's neither.

It's Jace, and he's half crouched by me, this excited look in his eyes that surprises me. "Hi," he whispers, offering a slight half grin.

I feel my heart pounding. "Hi."

"How is she?" he inquires, jerking his chin towards the slumbering Izzy.

"She's…she's good," I reply, a little disoriented—disoriented by sleep, by Jace's sudden appearance and high spirits, by his beauty…

"And the baby? What about the baby?" He's practically vibrating with excitement now.

"She's good, too."

"Where is she? Can I see her?"

It takes me a minute to nod, and then I get up and lead him down the hall, where the baby gets to sleep at night, so that it doesn't disturb Izzy—which Izzy protests each time, saying the point in being a mother is losing a little sleep.

There's a human nurse watching over the baby, sitting in a rocking chair and reading a book in the dimly lit nursery. She looks up in surprise when Jace and I walk in.

"We're here to see the baby," I explain, and she nods and leaves us submissively, as if we are royalty not to be spoken to.

Jace is already over at the white, old crib, peering down inside it at the remarkably less red but still wrinkly baby Alexandria. "Wow," he breathes, arching his brows. "That's her."

"Yeah," I say, looking down with him for a moment.

"Do you think I could hold her?" he asks, a little timidly, which makes me smile despite myself.

"I don't think anything would thrill Isabelle more," I tell him.

So, gently, he reaches down and scoops the sleeping baby up—so carefully she might as well be made of glass—and then he cradles her to his chest. I notice then how dirty he is. He's covered in a light dusting of brown earth, his hair matted with it, his ripped t-shirt stained, so it's no longer white but beige. He's got a thin cut on his cheekbone, a few bloodstains on his arm, one big gash on his hand, and he's got the darkest circles under his eyes I've ever seen.

He's such a contrast to the clean little child he holds in his arms. He's so big and strong and she's so tiny and weak. And he looks almost dangerous with all his wounds and filth, but he's holding Alexandria in a way that says he's the least danger that baby will ever face.

And then he smiles—this big goofy smile that lights up his eyes, and I don't think I've ever quite seen him look so happy.

"Wow," he repeats. "She's so little."

I feel a tightness in my chest.

His eyes flicker up to meet mine, his smile still in place, his irises liquid gold that are burning so bright its hard to look at. It's hard to look at him at all. He's glowing. "Have you held her yet?"

"No," I say quickly, shaking my head, thinking of Izzy's pleading and my constant images of accidentally dropping the baby or crushing her in my hold.

Jace nods, like he expects that answer, and looks back down to the baby. He swings her around a little his arms, bouncing her, still grinning like a complete idiot. "She doesn't hardly weigh anything. She's healthy, right?"

"Yes. She's just small."

"Izzy was small, too, when she was first born," Jace confides. "I remember getting to hold her, too, though they had to set me down on the bed and let me hold her there—in case I dropped her. I was so fu—_freaking_ scared that I _was_ going to drop her. I was shaking a little. But I was so excited," he says wistfully.

"I remember that like yesterday—even though it was so long ago."

He seems to be sharing the story more with Alexandria than with me, and I don't know what to say, either, so I just don't say anything at all.

"What's her name?" he asks, arching his brows and looking back up to me.

"Alexandria Rose. Rose because that's what Sebastian wanted, and Alexandria for—"

"Alec," Jace murmurs, his eyes getting a little glassy. He quickly looks back down at the baby. "He'd be proud."

I'm not sure if he means Sebastian or Alec, so I just nod and say, "Yeah."

Alexandria stirs a bit in his arms, makes a grunting sound, and cracks open her deep blue eyes just a little, staring up at Jace but not making a peep. It's one of the first times she hasn't woke to a crying fit, and I wonder if that just comes with age or it's something to do with Jace.

Probably Jace, I decide.

"Hey, Alexandria," he tells her, as if she can understand him. But at least he's not making a horrifying baby voice as Izzy does—his is only _slightly_ disturbing. "I'm your cousin, I guess. But that sounds weird. Maybe I could be called your uncle. I like that better."

I lean against the crib's railing, feeling my chest get tighter and tighter and tighter.

"Yeah, you might look like an English bulldog now, but you'll get cute. I can see the potential," he goes on, conversationally, and it startles a laugh out of me, despite the increasingly warm, heavy feeling rising inside me.

Watching him, the warmth spreads—all over me like a blanket. It fills me up so completely that I almost forget how to breathe. It gets difficult to pull air into my lungs, but the feeling isn't all together unpleasant.

Then I'm blurting out, all in a rush, "Jace, put the baby down."

He glances up at me in shock. "What? Why?"

"Just do it," I order.

So he does, surprising me with his compliance.

And when Alexandria is safely lying in her crib again, I'm at Jace, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling myself up, pressing my lips against his. Our mouths immediately move together, but it's not a heated, lust-filled kiss—just languid and warm and breathless.

Jace's hands rest lightly, almost hesitantly, against my hips, and I hug him tighter, holding our bodies together in a hug that feels scarily pleasant.

Then I drop back down to my heels and look up at him, searchingly. His lips are parted, swollen, and he's staring back down at me, his eyebrows still arched a bit as if he's waiting for something.

I kiss him again, a soft little brush of lips against lips. Then I do it again and again, running my fingers down his jaw, feeling the stubble there scrub over my sensitive skin. I brush my thumbs over his cheekbones, play a bit with his hair, as I still continue to press a few more kisses to his open mouth.

I pull away from him again, my hands dropping from his neck, moving down to his shoulders, over his hard chest.

It's the first time I've ever kissed him—just to kiss him, with no intentions of anything more than a kiss. It's how it should have been from the beginning—as if we were a real couple, just staring out, just dating and enjoying the thrills of the little things, such as just kissing.

It's strangely satisfying, more so than I thought it would be. Because kissing itself serves hardly anything for physical gratification. It's more emotional.

And that frightens me.

So I tell myself it's just my pregnancy hormones, and I try to ignore the amazed, but undeniably hopeful, way Jace is looking at me for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Clary's harsh, isn't she? No love for a newborn baby? I don't know why she comes out so mean when I write her. I hope this isn't a reflection on me. While I do not particularly enjoy holding newborn babies (too small, too fragile, too drool-y), I'm not that mean. I don't think. What do Y'ALL think about newborn babies? This should be a fairly stress-free topic for me that's also engaging for y'all. Because I just enjoy talking to y'all.**


	59. Chapter 59

**A/N: Y'all are just amazing. That is all.**

**Oh, except, there will be one more update later. (:**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Nine

At first, I'm dreaming of Jace holding a baby, talking to it with a huge smile. I think it might be Alexandria, but then I see it has golden-blond hair, not black, and the love in his eyes is magnified ten-fold, to an almost impossible level, the kind of love that radiates out and touches everything.

Then the scene shifts, to a vague memory, where Jace is on top of me, inside of me, and my nails are raking down his sweaty, hard back and we're both shifting wildly, moaning and frantic, clawing at each other.

And then we're suddenly standing in the rain together. We're on the rooftop of the Wanderer for a moment, and when I blink, we're in the park I used to play in as a child, and we're both smiling and soaking wet and looking up at the sky to watch the water drops look like crystals raining down on us.

I blink again, and now, I'm in the bathroom with Malachi again and he's talking to me, and then he's approaching me, and this time when he tackles me to the ground, I'm sure Simon won't come, and that Malachi will hurt me—

I slam upright, gasping and shivering.

The darkness around me is frightening and suffocating, and I'm suddenly six-years-old again and terrified of the night, of everything bad it brings—monsters and Mommy's absence and baby sitters.

"Clary?" I hear someone mumble sleepily.

And I realize that I'm not six again, and I haven't been afraid of the dark in years. But I'm still trembling, and I can't shake that shiver that keeps running up my spine, a cold reminder that something is _wrong_—something I can't see, that's out of my reach.

A light flickers on, warm and dim in the corner of the room, casting everything in gold, and immediately, the tightening in my chest fades.

I breathe out in relief.

"What's wrong?" Jace asks, his voice gravely with sleep. I feel him sit up beside me, the bed moving just slightly. "Hey." His hand smoothes down my back, where my nightgown is plastered to me with sweat. "Clary?"

"I just had a bad dream," I say, my hands covering my face as I try to calm my breathing. "It's okay. Go back to sleep."

He doesn't listen, of course, just keeps rubbing my back, which is what I always wanted someone to do to me when I was little. I craved that—that human, comforting touch—but Mother never was too fond of physical affection, even when she was still a decent mother.

I close my eyes tight, try to empty my head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jace inquires softly.

"No," I say.

I hear him give out a little exhaled laugh. "Ok-ay."

He's accepting of my sometimes rude, mostly abrupt behavior, and it makes me feel worse about being that way to begin with.

So I sigh, and find myself muttering, "I was just dreaming about…about that night when Malachi attacked me."

Jace's gentle touch on my back halts. I feel his whole body tense next to mine.

I keep going, though. "When it was happening, the first person…the first person that popped into my mind to help me was you. I just wanted you, even after it happened." I can't believe I've said this. Maybe I'm halfway hoping this is still a dream.

Jace is quiet for a long time before saying, "I should have been there to help you."

"No, Jace," I disagree, yet again. "You have a job to do. Protecting the city is one of the only things the Guardians do that's good for humans." I realize the traitorous words as soon as they are out of my mouth, and I freeze in terror. It takes me a full minute to work up the courage to look over at Jace's expression, fully expecting to see his anger or, at the very least, suspicion.

But he's just thoughtful. "You're right."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, and I try to shift the conversation back to something less dangerous for me. "About Malachi, though, you can't always be around me, Jace. That's not what I meant… I just…I've never had a man in my life—as a father, or a father figure, or a boyfriend—nothing. I've never really…felt safe before—until I've been with you. So, what I'm trying to say is, you're ready to be a father—even if you don't think so. You'll be good at this. It's me…it's me that won't."

"Don't say that, Clary."

"It's true."

"No, it's not," he says firmly, but I still don't believe him.

* * *

**One Week Later**

"What do you think?" Izzy asks with a smile.

Jace is holding Alexandria again, because any time we come see Izzy he has to hold her, and he looks over at his cousin a smiles back. "She's perfect."

I sit stiffly beside him, watching the little wrinkly baby blow spit bubbles out of her mouth.

I feel a little disgusted, but I try not to show it.

"She likes you," Izzy sighs, shaking her head ruefully and kicking her feet up on her coffee table. "She was crying like crazy before you got here and picked her up. It's not fair."

"Not fair?" Jace inquires, arching his brows.

"No, not fair that she already likes you more than me."

Jace laughs and rolls his eyes. "She does not, Iz. She's just not as used to me, is all."

"Well, I don't see how she's not. You hold her every day," Izzy says and then swings her gaze to me. "He's going to spoil her."

"I think he already has," I tell her.

She nods tiredly. "I think so, too. Just wait until it's his own kid—he's going to drive you crazy."

There's a lump in my throat suddenly that I can't seem to get down, no matter how hard I swallow.

A tense silence befalls the room for a long time, until Jace and Izzy clear with the topic of something less touchy.

But I don't speak again.

* * *

**Two Days Later**

"Clary," Jace groans as I collapse against him, both of us breathing hard. "You're killing me."

"Why?" I ask, kissing his sweaty collarbone.

He doesn't answer. Just moans, "So tired. Can't think."

I laugh once, running my hand down his hitching, perspiration-dampened chest. "I'm sorry."

"No, you aren't," he exhales, a tiny smile in his voice.

I'm not. It's been one of those days where I just looked over at him and my body decided it needed him and then I was on top of him, pulling off his clothes before he could even protest.

But now that my body is cooling back off, I feel that familiar sense of wrongness. Like this isn't me. It's my _condition_.

How could my mother have done this to me?

The question just repeats over and over inside my head.

And then, it hits me that I'm going to be a mother—just out of the blue. A real-life mother because there's a real-life kid inside me. I'm going to have to _birth_ it. I'm going to have to take care of it—raise it.

"Jace," I whisper, panicked.

"What?" he inquires slowly because he's about to go to sleep.

"Jace, wake up."

"I'm awake," he complains, but when I look up at him, his eyes are closed, the arm he doesn't have around me thrown over his face.

"Jace, we're going to be parents."

"I know, Clary."

"I'm not ready."

At this, he removes his arm, props himself up with it so that he can see me better. His forehead crinkles. "Well, neither am I."

"Jace, this is serious," I say, my voice trembling a little. "I don't…I don't think I can be a good mom, Jace. I just…I don't know what to do. I didn't want this. I didn't want to be a mom. I didn't even want to be a wife and now I'm both and I don't know what to do because my mom isn't a good mom anymore and I don't know who to model being a mom after because I haven't seen a good mom and—"

"Clary," Jace says, his brows arching, his index finger coming up to press against my lips, silencing me. "Clary, honey, calm down. That's the most I've ever heard you say at once."

"I'm just scared," I whisper. "I'm scared, and I don't know who else to talk to it about."

Jace's face softens a bit, and he shifts us around until we both sit in the middle of the bed, the sheets tangled around us, cool winter light pouring into the room.

He looks down at his lap, his face suddenly sad again, like it has been so many times lately, how I see it when he thinks I'm not looking. I wonder if he's thinking of his own mom, whom he still goes to see every morning, without fail, despite her unchanging condition.

"How do you feel?" I ask him, because this is something we do, and I grab his hand, trying to cover it with both of mine.

"I…" I can see him debating, debating on telling me the truth or lying. "I feel good some days. The days I don't really remember things. I feel good at certain points in time, when I'm distracted from it, when I just forget for a minute. But it always comes back. When I see my mom or when I'm just by myself for a second, I realize that everything is still the way it was. Only slightly better." His eyes flicker down to my stomach, and I know what he means.

This baby is actually something he finds to be a _good_ thing, which is mind-blowing to me.

I don't disagree with him aloud, though, I just take his hand and put it on my stomach and hold it there with my own, and we just sit in silence for the longest time.

* * *

I realize that there are more important things to worry about than the baby.

It happens one morning when I'm trying to paint and Jace is lounging around, wearing only sweatpants, with his head hanging upside on the couch, a book in front of his face and Abel curled up at his side.

The _plan_ is what's important—it's what means everything now. It's the _reason_ why I'm pregnant, and if I don't just follow through with everything, then it will all be for nothing. I have to get some kind of information. I _have to do something_, because I think one more day of lying around and thinking about this thing growing inside my stomach is going to make me insane.

So, as casually as I can, I ask Jace, "What are you reading?"

"_The Lord of the Flies_," he answers, turning a page.

"Is it good?"

"It's violent."

I look over at him and arch a brow. "So you love it?"

Jace removes the book just a little so I see his eyes squint with a smile. "It's my absolute favorite."

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm and go back to painting. But I'm lacking insirpiration. Right now, it's just something for my hands to do. "Have you ever read the Bible—through and through?"

"Yeah, a couple times," he says, his voice a little distant because he's reading, too.

"What's it like?" I ask, even though I know because I've read it, too. I'm just trying to open doors without looking guilty.

"It's violent," he repeats. "In parts. It's good in parts, too. It's history."

"They say the Guardians' history was added on to it, right?"

"Yeah. The last few books of the Bible are on how the world ended. It's the Great Book of the Guardianship," he snorts.

I frown a little, my hand stilling against the canvas, a streak of blue paint ending aburtly. "What?"

"Well, there's the rumor around the Guardians have that big tell-all book around everything, but it's the Bible. That's all. It's not some super-secret mega book that deals with everything we've ever done. It's just our origin chapters in the Bible—not so secret considering quite a few humans have gotten their hands on it."

My body goes deathly, deathly cold. "So that book about all the Guardians' dealings that I've heard about my whole life…"

"Made up," Jace says, flipping another page.

I feel sick. Absolutely sick and cold and frozen.

"There's the Orginial Bible—the first one remade to include our origins. I've heard that one is a little bit different than the copies that are floating around, but I don't know. The idea of our own book is ridiculous, though," Jace goes on, oblivious to my reaction, which is a blessing because I can't disguise my horror now.

I don't know what else to say or do, so I let the conversation taper off. Jace doesn't notice because he's still reading his book. He doesn't notice when I leave the room, to gather my thoughts, to push down an impending panic attack—one of which hasn't happened since I was a child—and to debate on just what to do to my mother.

* * *

**So there is no book. Hmmmmmm. Anyways, for my question now, I'm going to ask, what is your FAVORITE thing about the story and what is your LEAST FAVORITE thing? Let me know please! (:**


	60. Chapter 60

**A/N: Hey, y'all. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE forgive me for never coming back with an update. I'm so, so, so sorry. I'm awful. I know. I just do have a life that is not very considerate of my need to write and keep promises to y'all. SILLY LIFE! Ugh. Anyway, I'm only posting this chapter today-no promises as to how many more there will be. I'm not doing that again because it's mean if I can't keep my promises. **

**ANYWAY. You know how I said there would be a new story soon about like the future and so forth. Well, I lied again. Because I'm a pathological liar. Anyway, that story is being put on hold in face of a new one! YAY! This new one is going to be about Clary and Jace (of course), but it's mostly going to be a character study.**

**As many of y'all can tell, I like to focus on relationships in stories, as well as the characters themselves and their motivations. Human emotions and so forth fascinate me, and also, I believe that without good characters, who is going to care about your story? For example, I'd rather read a story about my favorite characters in the world simply going to the grocery store in search of the perfect avocado versus this epic story of dragons and elves with CRAP characters.**

**So, this story will be much different than Half Truths. If you're not into possessive guy stories, then don't read this one. If you're more excited by a plot, then don't read this one. Not to say it WON'T have a plot, but it's going to be all over the place.**

**It's basically about Clary and Jace, and they are immortals (not vampires, mind you). It's a look on how immortality must really feel-not just the glamorized mentions in pop culture. It's going to be an in-depth look on what it might feel like to live forever, and what it feels like to be in love with something that isn't necessarily GOOD for you.**

**If you don't like possessive Jace, don't like a slow-building character study, don't read it because I'm sorry, I just don't wanna hear your complaints about it. That sounds mean, but I'm just giving a warning-not trying to be rude. Because y'all know I try not to be rude.**

**On a completely unrelated note (I know, you're thinking this isn't really a chapter at all, it's just a long Author's Note I've teased y'all with), OVER 1,000 reviews! WHAT?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Holy crap! How did that even happen? Do y'all realize that's after only like a month and some change? How amazing are y'all? Seriously. Like... wow. I'm blown away by everyone's awesomeness.**

* * *

Chapter Sixty

"There is _no book_!" I scream, throwing my hands up at my mother, who sits on the couch of our apartment with a blank look on her face. "There's no book. All of this—" I motion around me, mostly to my stomach, "—was for _nothing_. You sold me away _for nothing_."

Mother blinks a few times, rapidly, her eyes distantly horrified. "No," she whispers, shaking her heard. "_No_. They told me—they _told_ me there was a book."

"Who told you, Mother? The Guardians themselves—because they are the only ones that would really know in the first place, aren't they?"

Mother's head shakes still. "The connections I had in the Wanderer—the human staff…they _told me_, Clary. They told me there was a book."

"Well, I'm telling you there isn't!" I cry.

"There _has to be_. There has to be a book," she murmurs rapidly, hugging her arms to her chest.

"There's not," I say flatly, my anger ebbing away in face of disgust.

Mother is suddenly on her feet, walking towards me, her eyes lit with manic fire. "There has to be a book, Clary! There's a book! He's lying to you! He's just lying to you!" She grabs my arms and shakes me—hard. "There's a book! I _know_ there's a book!"

"Mother, let go!" I yell at her, wincing at she grips me harder.

"You're letting that boy fill your head with lies! You can't trust him! He's lying! He _has_ to be! You just missed something!"

"Let go!"

Mother's words become a garbled mess of accusations and fears and pleas, of which I can make no sense, and she continues shaking me, with more force than I thought her capable, until I'm afraid of her—afraid of her and her strong grip and her crazed eyes and her plans that are falling apart.

"Mom, stop! You're hurting me!" I yell. "The baby!"

At this, she freezes like ice, her eyes wide and her flying out in all different directions, her lips parted and gasping.

I step away from her, pulling myself from her hold, and my hands go to my stomach instinctually as I eye her carefully, waiting with bated breath for her next move.

But she doesn't move towards me.

She just blinks, and there are suddenly tears and sorrow and regret in her eyes. "Clary, I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't think about the baby."

I don't respond. I can't.

"Clary, I'm so sorry," she repeats, and this time her voice is broken and she's crying now, falling in on herself, puddling into the floor dejectedly. "I'm so sorry for everything I've done to you."

The words are right, but the meaning behind them isn't. Or perhaps she is genuinely sorry. But I'm not ready to forgive her so easily.

"This…this has gotten out of control," she whispers through trembling lips. Snot runs down her nose. I'm disgusted by it—by her—and her sobs because throughout everything, I haven't cried. I haven't cried and she shouldn't have the luxury of it, either.

"Let me explain to you," she pleads, looking up at me. Mascara runs down her black cheeks. "Let me tell you why I've been so obsessed with this."  
I hesitate, my eyes flickering over to the front door.

I could leave, leave her behind—her and her ridiculous plans. But then what? What would I do? Have Jace's child? Have another? And another? Let Valentine take the children away from us, let him raise them to be monsters like him? Let him continue ruling over everyone like a madman?

The truth of the matter is, without at least my mother's plan in mind and her support, I'd feel truly alone—more alone than I've ever felt before. I'd feel lost. Without purpose.

The idea is daunting, horrifying—like an enormous black pit that I'm standing on the edge of, peering down inside.

So I find myself sitting in front of Mother carefully, not yet ready to accept her explanations but curious to hear them, nonetheless.

She looks relieved. "Clary, there's more to this than I've let you realize. Much, much more."

I nod once, shortly, to let her know I'm listening.

"Valentine…he killed my sister—this much you know. He killed her because he lit that Millhouse on fire. I have no idea why. It served some purpose to him, but I'm not sure as to what." Mother swallows, tucks some of her hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. Her eyes are distant, remembering. "Valentine and I had already begun to have an affair, at that point. He picked me out of sixteen other women—many much more beautiful than me. He said it was because he thought I was strong, and he liked that."

I feel a little sick.

Mother pushes on, even though I know she must be feeling the same. "He asked me questions. He was always asking me questions about things. I guess to let him pretend he knew me better—but of course, in the end, he knew nothing about me." She swallows again, this time more forcefully. "He asked me about my family. I told him I just had a sister left—that our father had abandoned us after our mother died. It was just Amatis and I, and she was younger, and I had to take care of her. To keep us both fed and housed, I'd had to take a job as a Date. It was the only job a young girl like myself could get that didn't involve horrid pay and heavy labor. I think he admired that, in some way. But Amatis didn't.

"I told Valentine about her often, because I loved her. At that point, she was like my own little child. But she was getting older, and she took a moral stand to what I was doing—she said it was wrong. So she took up the job at the Millhouse. She worked her fingers to the bone nearly every day and made just a small sliver of the amount I made. But she was earning an honest living, and to her, that was all that mattered."

Mother is smiling faintly now, no doubt admiring of her sister's work ethic. Maybe even a little longing for it, too.

"Anyway, Valentine began asking questions about the Millhouse itself—lots of questions. I answered them, but I was getting suspicious of it. Still, he's a very secretive man, and I knew there was no way I was getting any information out of him."

Mother sighs a bit before going on. "About this time, I met your father." I notice her hands twist together sharply in her lap, her face paling just slightly. "He was so handsome—and so human—and so _good_. His name was Luke, and I just…I fell in love for the first time in my life.

"He didn't care about what I was. He said he knew my life was hard and that I had to do what I had to do—and he just didn't care. He treated me no different than anyone else, and as you know, Clary, that's a great thing in this city. Dates are spat on even more so than the Guardians themselves." Mother inhales deeply. "Anyway, he was just…I just loved him. I still do."

I bite my bottom lip roughly, uncomfortable with this change in topic, and even more uncomfortable with the sudden shift in my mother's face—from wistful and loving to dark and twisted.

"But Valentine found out about Luke."

My heart sinks. No. No, this couldn't be—

"Clary, your father never left us," she says, finally making eye contact with me, so I can understand the importance of what she's telling me. "Valentine killed him."

"No," I say.

"Yes." She nods. "He killed him himself. I saw him do it. Valentine killed him in front of me—so I could watch and know—know that in his mind, I was his property."

"It's not true."

"It is."

"Then why didn't you tell me this sooner?" I demand, standing up swiftly, unable to stand still. I glare down at my mother. "Why…_why_? Don't you think this was something I deserved to know?"

Mother licks her lips a little nervously, almost, and then stands with me, so our eyes are level again. "Clary, I knew you weren't a good enough actress to pull off that knowledge. You would have wanted revenge against Valentine immediately or at the very least, you'd have acted hostile towards him. I just couldn't entrust you with that kind of information—not until now."

"When you had to," I spit bitterly. "You see me turning away from you, and you do this to reel me back in!"

"Clary, this is the truth!" she cries back at me. "You wanted it so badly and know you have it—don't try to turn this back around on me. This is the truth, you have it, and now, what are you going to do with it?"

I open and close my mouth once, my mind working and trying to soak in all of this new information but getting overwhelmed in the process. I feel very close to the brink of tears, to the brink of hysteria.

"I don't know!" I yell. "I don't know what to do!"

Mother nods once, her face smoothing back out, and she reaches for me, engulfing my cheeks in her soft, cool hands, making me sigh in comfort and close my eyes despite myself. It's been so long since she's even touched me like this—lovingly.

"Come here," she says, and brings me closer, engulfing me in a delicate hug that smells of her sweet and soft perfume. She strokes my hair, and I wrap my arms around her tightly, unable to get close enough. "Clary, I'm sorry. I'm sorry all of this has happened to you. I would have taken your place in a heartbeat, if it had been at all possible. But sometimes, we have to do things that almost kill us."

"For the greater good," I say deadly into her shirt.

"No. I'm not going to lie to you anymore and say that the past few months have not been more about my own personal vengeance than freeing humans from the Guardians' oppressiveness. I'm…I'm consumed by the idea of revenge, Clary. It's driving me almost mad. And I'm sorry to have put you in the middle of it."

I hug her even tighter, because she's finally being honest with me and she's finally holding me, and it feels so good.

"But we can still take the Guardians down—and Valentine with them."

I jerk back from her, my eyes dawning.

She's smiling slightly, holding my cheeks again, an excited light in her eyes. "The absence of a book is an unfortunate set-back, but my plan is multi-tiered."

"Why…why can't I just leave?" I whisper, but then, despite myself, I think of Jace—just a quick flash of memory, him sitting on the couch, a book in one hand, petting Abel with the other, his lips pursed in a little smirk as his eyes dance with amusement.

"Clary, do you honestly think Valentine and Jace will just let you disappear, when you are carrying that child?" Mother inquires, moving her hand down to touch my stomach.

I remove it immediately, taking a step back from her. "But…"

"Clary, this needs to be finished. You've already gotten so far. We can do this—we can stop them. We can help the city and all the humans inside—and we can avenge Amatis. Your father."

I'm robbed of breath, unable to speak.

Mother moves towards me again, cups my cheeks with her hands, meets my eyes with hers and says, "Please. Please do this for me."

With the weight of the world on my chest and shoulders, I'm unable to do anything but nod.

* * *

I close my eyes tightly, clear my mind completely, and just _enjoy_ the slow, torturous way Jace keeps pushing inside me.

I enjoy that feeling of utter fullness, his body literally filing a void in mine. I enjoy the way his sweaty body glides against mine, the way the skin of his shoulder tastes when I kiss it, the way he'll pause briefly with his thrusting and tremble against me, as if it feels so he good he almost can't stand it. I enjoy his ragged breathing against my neck, the hard muscles of his back and shoulders beneath my digging fingers, the smell of his hair as it tickles my jaw.

I sigh, feeling my stomach clench hotly as my fingers move up to his hair, knotting in the soft strands. My knee slides up higher on his side, and he's deeper then and groaning.

I see now what Jace means about closeness. This feels wonderful—being so close to him. Sharing each breath, sharing each thrill of pleasure, sharing everything. I don't want it to ever stop because I don't want to feel empty again and I don't want to feel the absence of his breath on my neck, or of his quiet moans, or of his whispered, sweet proclamations against my skin.

And the thought that this will end soon almost has me mourning its loss already. I'm terrified of it ending because then I'll have to face everything again, and I don't want to.

Jace turns his head, his lips skimming along my jaw and then up towards my cheekbone, but he freezes when he tastes the salt water of one of my gentle tears.

I keep my eyes closed, even when I feel him pull away from me, to look down at me.

"Jesus, Clary," Jace exhales. "Are you _crying_? Am I hurting you?"

He moves, as if to pull out of me, and I panic, my legs going to his waist, wrapping tightly around him. I use my interlocked ankles to yank him back against my body, within my body.

He shudders and groans, but he's still resisting. "Clary…w-why are you crying?"

"You're not hurting me," I rush out, opening my tear-dampened eyes to see him, his face tense and suspicious above mine. "Please don't stop."

"Why are you crying?" he repeats, enunciating each word clearly.

"I just…it just feels good," I tell him. His body is stiff within my hold, and I roll my hips up slowly before dropping back down, stroking him. "Don't stop, Jace."

"Clary," he groans tightly, his eyes slipping shut for a moment. But then they're open, looking down at me all warm and golden, filled with honest concern, which just makes a few more tears slip out. "Fuck, Clary. Are you in pain? What's wrong?"

He's pulling away again, and this time, he won't let me pull him back. He moves so he's completely withdrawn from me, and I sigh in loss and defeat.

"I'm okay. I just didn't want you to stop," I whisper.

"Do you honestly expect me to just keep going when you're crying like that?" he asks, arching his brows.

I shake my head mutely, closing my eyes again.

There's a long, uneasy, unsure silence.

Then I feel Jace's fingers brushing along my cheekbone, swiping away tears. "Did I do something?"

"No, Jace, you didn't do _anything_," I reply, my lips trembling a little.

"Then what's wrong?"

I inhale deeply, part my eyelids a bit to stare up at him through my lashes. It only takes a few heartbeats before the words start tumbling out. "Do you ever feel alone—truly, deeply alone—and used?"

"Yes," he answers without one moment's hesitation.

"I feel betrayed."

"By who?"

"My mother."

"What did she do?" he asks, his brow furrowing.

I suddenly want nothing more than to tell him everything—every little secret I've kept—just so he can understand. Just so I can get it off my chest. But that's ridiculous, obviously, because if I tell him everything, he'll be wounded, his trust in me shattered, and I'll most likely be kept around until the child is born and then thrown out on the street—replaced by another Date that's never been trained by my mother.

The thought of him with another woman alone is what keeps my mouth shut.

And all those things, all those reasons why I must keep the truth to myself, makes me feel even more lonely and desperate.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say, closing my eyes again.

I expect him to press, to continue on hounding me for information, but he doesn't. His forehead just rests against mine, and that's surprisingly comforting. He says, "Okay."

I feel another tear leak out of the corner of my eye.

"It's okay," he says, his lips brushing against mine. "You'll be okay. You'll see."

I don't ask him what I'll see because I'm too afraid to, so I just let his words sink down into me, easing away the fear.

* * *

**More questions for thought: What was your favorite chapter so far and why? If you can't think back that far and think specifically (like I can't), then what would you most like to see? And try to be creative here, people, because I KNOW Y'ALL are creative. Don't just tell me that you want Clary to say I love you back, which I know most of y'all do, and I want her to, too, but we will just have to wait and see.**

**An unrelated question is, what is your favorite classic book? If you're not big on classics, then I shall accept regular books. OR BOTH! (:  
**


	61. Chapter 61

**A/N: Last update of the evening (AH ENDING ON AN ODD NUMBER THE WORLD SHALL SURELY END). Half of this is important. The other half not so much but fun to write nonetheless.**

**As for my other story, Always and Forever (the one I mentioned previously), it's up. So go check it out if you want to! (; Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. Leave me some reviews to let me know how y'all are feeling about it! (:  
**

**Enjoy this chapter! (:**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-One

"Good morning," I say, a little too quickly, when Jace walks into the apartment.

His hair is shower-damp from the rinse he no doubt took after his early-morning training session, and he's wearing his baggy sweatpants and his tight white t-shirt, and I feel my chest clench a little at the sight of him, and the little grin he gives me.

"Morning," he returns, pausing to pet the bouncing Abel.

When he straightens and drifts towards the bedroom, I step in front of him, cutting off his path, ringing my hands nervously.

His brows arch. "You okay?"

I nod quickly, swallowing, and then fix my eyes on his left shoulder, unable to meet his own smoldering gaze. "I wanted…I wanted to apologize. For last night."

"Clary, you don't have anything to apologize for," he says.

"But…we stopped—right in the middle. And I know boys have a harder time doing that," I whisper, a blush rising to my cheeks, made almost painful when I hear Jace's slight exhaled chuckle.

"I've had quite a few cases of blue balls before, Clary. One more time isn't going to kill me," he responds, his hand coming up to my cheek, pulling me in so he can kiss my forehead.

I sigh, embarrassed.

"Listen, though. If you ever need to talk to me about things, you can. I'm not just here just to serve your sexual needs, darling," he says, parroting my old words back to me, a smug smile in his voice.

I laugh once, roll my eyes, and meet his gaze a little shyly.

He sobers a bit, his hands moving to engulf my cheeks between them. "If you need anything, I'll get it for you. I'll whatever you need me to, Clary."

I flush, the heat spreading down from my cheeks, to my chest, catching fire to my heart. "I…I want…I want to ask you something," I whisper, hesitant.

"Then ask," he murmurs, his face so soft.

"Please don't let me be like my mother. Just…just make sure I'm not cold and heartless to this…kid," I mutter, my hand going to my stomach. "I don't want to be like my mom, Jace."

"First of all," he replies with a half grin. "This kid is _our _kid." He covers the hand resting on my stomach with one of his. "Secondly, I'll make sure you aren't as cold and heartless to the baby as you are to me."

He's half joking, half not, and guilt overwhelms me.

I feel tears returning, and I think this emotional flip-flop must be due, in part, to these hormones in my body.

It doesn't make them any less real however, and it is through trembling lips that I say, "I'm sorry."

Jace just smiles again. "Don't be. And don't let me be like my father, either, okay? It can be a two-way street. We can help each other not be the worst parents in the world."

I give a weak grin. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

_I'm dreaming of strange things, things I can't quite remember once they have passed._

_ I just know that now, I stand in the old park I played in as a child. But it's empty and covered with snow that continually falls down from the slate-gray sky._

_ I'm shivering, trying to wrap my arms around myself to keep some warmth, when I hear my name whispered on the wind._

_ I frown, turning full circle in the deathly empty park. In the distance, I see a loen oak tree—the one from my painting, except it has no leaves. They have been ripped away by the harshness of winter, leaving behind only gnarled, bare branches that reach towards the sky like a skeleton's fingers._

_ I swallow and move closer to it, on instinct._

_ "Clarissa."_

_ I halt, my breath hanging around my face in silver clouds. When I blink, Celine is suddenly standing there in front of me._

_ She blends seamlessly in with the winter, with her silvery blonde hair and skin. But she wears a bright red coat, the color of blood, and it matches the slight flush of her cheeks, and she looks more alive than I've ever seen her._

_ She smiles a bit. "Hello, Clarissa."_

_ "What…" I frown again, peering back over my shoulder, as if I expect to see something other than the barren landscape. I don't. "Is this…am I dreaming?"  
_

_"Yes. And no." Celine tilts her head a bit. "I'm in your dream—but I'm real. This," she pauses to motion around us, at the dusting snow drifting from the sky, "is not."_

_ "How…how are you…" I'm so utterly confused, my head straining with the information._

_ "It doesn't matter how. I just am." Celine is suddenly closer to me, her eyes insistent. "Listen to me, Clary. I'm in the coma for a reason. I have to be—to protect myself from Valentine."  
_

_"Valentine?" I whisper. "How is that protecting yourself—"_

_ "The doctors in the infirmary aren't swayed by him. They're good men and women, and they keep round the watch care. I knew I'd be safe—especially with you and Jace and Izzy watching after me." She smiles softly._

_ I look at her in blank amazement. "So…he's trying to kill you?"_

_ "I'm sure he is. He killed Samuel. Why wouldn't he kill me?"_

_ The breath escapes my lungs, and it's painful, even though I know this isn't real. "What?"_

_ "Samuel knew too much, Clarissa. He knew about the Millhouse incident—thanks to those pictures you took of Valentine's journal. I helped decode them. We know now. We know what he's up to."_

_ "Why…how…what? Why are telling me this?" I ask in stupefaction._

_ "Because I know I can trust you. I just…I feel it. I knew you had a good aura about you, Clarissa. From the start." She offers a gentle smile. "It was Samuel that didn't trust you yet. He didn't trust me. And I don't blame him—I am the crazy lady, or so they say. But I'm only crazy because of what I know—all the things I see, the things I've heard…they are a burden that have driven me to the brink of insanity, Clarissa. Knowing the future is a hard burden to bear."_

_ I'm completely speechless._

_ Celine goes on without giving me time to find my voice again. "The reason why I'm here, speaking with you, is because you need to know the truth. Time is running out. This child of yours, Clarissa, is in great danger—along with Jace. I can't tell him because I know him. And he's a hot head. He'll go off and confront Valentine, but he's good at heart and he won't be able to kill him—and Valentine will beat my dear son to the punch._

_ "So I'm entrusting everything to you, Clarissa. I'm entrusting this knowledge to you. Do you understand?" she asks slowly._

_ And I nod quickly._

_ "What you have to understand first is that Samuel and I were in love, when we were young. We both felt it, but he was older—and already married by that time, to a woman he didn't want to marry. And then I was married off to Valentine, and there was nothing either of us could do about it. But desire is a strong thing, especially when repressed, and eventually, we began an affair—my biggest sin and secret."_

_ "I knew it," I say, quietly._

_ She simply nods. "Around that time, I became pregnant with Jace. I will never know who the father was. I don't want to know. Samuel always thought Jace was his, and I hope that's true because Jace will have at least some of Samuel's good sense. But I'm just unsure. It doesn't matter, though." Celine swallows once. "What mattered was Valentine's increasingly erratic behavior. It got worse and worse after Jace born. And then, the Millhouse incident happened._

_ "I just…I had this feeling, you know? Deep inside my bones, I could feel Valentine had something to do with that tragedy. I told Samuel of my fears, and he began watching his brother. He noticed he was up to something, too. But at this time, Samuel's wife had died in childbirth, and his need for me become overwhelming, until I had to send him away—less Valentine found us out. So he went to the borders, to try and regain some control of himself, to put some distance between us. It left me in charge of the spying, but I've never been vary good at deception, despite my immoral dealings with Samuel."  
_

_Celine looks to the sky for a moment, the snowflakes sticking to her cheeks and eyelashes before she returns her gaze to mine and sighs. "However, when you came along, I saw the opportunity for a new spy. Clarissa, I know. I know what your mother wishes you to do—I saw it."_

_ My lips part, a sharp gust of cold air slipping between them, burning down into my lungs._

_ "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. I will never give away your secret. I just know that you will be on our side. You hate Valentine as the rest of us do, and you're capable enough to find things we need—such as his journal."_

_ I'm stunned. I can't force one word from my parched throat. _

_ I don't need to. Celine continues on. "Clarissa, Valentine—he's doing something evil. He's using the babies for something, just as he used all those human lives at the Millhouse. He wants…he wants to do something unnatural. Because he knows. He knows Jace is the—" _

And then I wake up, with a gasp, my heart in my throat.

Jace glances over at me, a book balanced on his smooth, broad chest, his eyebrows arched in the dim light of our bedroom. "Having a bad dream?"

"No," I say quickly, shutting my eyes again, trying to fall back asleep, to fall back into the dream.

But Celine never comes back.

And I don't know what to do.

* * *

**Two Months Later**

"Clary, you're acting a little preoccupied. Are you okay?" Jace inquires as we walk towards Izzy's room—to see Alexandria, who has Jace wrapped around her little chubby pinky finger.

"Yes, I'm fine," I reply, my mind immediately going back to that dream of mine a few months previous.

Celine hasn't come back to me.

I sit with her everyday, without fail, and still—nothing.

I haven't done anything besides that, not even spoken to my mother, and as the time goes by, my stomach gets a little more bloated and Alexandria gets older and this internal clock that seems to be ticking in my mind gets louder.

More frantic.

Jace's arm is tossed around my shoulder, and he pulls me close, pecking me on the temple, making me smile a bit despite myself.

He's like a different man now than the boy I first met. Alexandria's appearance and the expectancy of a baby of his own has the grief and anger I once saw in him draining away. Not even when his father acts up does he lash out. He just grins, which infuriates Valentine even more.

I just pray that when things begin to happen, they don't crush him under their weight.

"You look sexy today," he says with a cute little grin as we get to Izzy's door.

I roll my eyes. "I look fat today."

He rolls his eyes back, a dramatic imitation of my own, and then grins again and knocks on her door, never looking away from me. "When do you think you'll start showing?"

"I already am."

"Are not."

"Are, too," I reply, letting out a tiny laugh at his childishness. "Look." I pull up my blouse a little, so he can see the way my stomach pudges at the top of my tight skirt.

He shakes his head frowning. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean like noticeably."

"This is noticeable, Jace," I tell him flatly.

He opens his mouth, no doubt to argue, but the door creeks open and Simon is there, looking like a deer in the headlights.

Jace and I look back at him, both of us dead-faced.

"Oh, shit. Hi," he blurts, shifting on his feet.

Jace's blank expression only lasts until Simon utters his first syllable. "What the fuck are you doing in Izzy's room?"

"I was…helping."

"Helping with what, you little four-eyed freak?" Jace demands.

"Jace," I warn.

"I…I was—the baby!" Simon cries, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down quickly. "I was helping with the baby."

"I can help take care of the baby, Simon. We don't need you for that," Jace growls.

At this, Simon turns a little miffed, and I see his intention and want to beg him not to. But it's too late. He's already talking—without a filter, of course. "Well, where have you been then? Off getting more…more…_buff_?"

"Your wit is stunning," Jace remarks.

Simon flushes red. "Look, man, I just—"

Jace's hands are already balled up in Simon's shirt, and he's lifting the human boy, slamming him into the wall as if he weighs nothing.

I wince.

"_Look, man_," Jace snaps. "I'm _not_ your man. Why the hell don't you just back off? Don't you know your place?"

"You're just pissed off because I was here to help Clary when you weren't!"

"Oh, God," I whisper in prayer, closing my eyes.

"You little human sack of shit," Jace whispers, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. "Do you really want to do this with me, Simon? I don't necessarily find myself looking to pick a fight with you, but I'll be damned if I let you talk to me like that. You've just tripped your way over a line, and I'll be more than happy to put you back into your place. If you want."

I peep over at them, at Simon's pale face and Jace's coolly enraged one, and I hold my breath.

I wait for the snap.

But Izzy appears, holding baby Alexandria in her arms, and she glares. "Jace! Let go of Simon!"

"What?" he demands, glancing over at her in shock. "He just insulted me!"

"Jace, I don't care if he did challenge you to a-mine-is-bigger-than-yours contest. It makes no difference to me what size both of you are, so just put him down before you hurt him."

I bite my lip, surprised at her boldness, wondering if it will work on Jace.

And it does.

Although it might have something to do with Alexandria's presence.

He lets go of Simon roughly, shoving him down the hall a little. "Get out of here."

Simon opens his mouth, but Izzy and I both shake our heads in unison behind Jace's back, and Simon quickly scurries away—with a definite sulk about him.

Then Jace sighs and turns to Izzy, takes Alexandria from her and begins cooing to the baby, as if nothing has happened, earning her high-pitched baby giggles.

And Izzy and I just share a smile.

"Boys," she sighs.

* * *

**Who else loves cutely jealous guys? Not like...crazy psycho guys like in my new story, but like...healthy jealous, if there's such a thing? (:**


	62. Chapter 62

**A/N: Hey, y'all! AH! I'm horrible. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long. Three updates today, though, and this is the first of them! Please forgive me! And enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Two

**Two Months Later**

I huff in aggravation, turning a bit in the mirror. My dresses, the ones I've just received, are already much too tight around my protruding stomach. I've tried on three different ones in the last ten minutes, each one's sides straining against my belly.

"I'm hideously fat," I announce.

Isabelle, who is holding Alexandria and making faces at the baby, glances over at me. "You're pregnant, Clary. It goes away eventually. Look at me." She pats her now flat stomach.

"You're naturally thin to begin with," I murmur. "It'll take work to get me slim again—and without losing my curves, too."

"You worry too much," Izzy mutters, rolling her eyes and hefting Alexandria up a bit. Alexandria giggles and lolls her black-hair covered head back and forth.

"Hey, can you hold Alex for a minute? I need to go to the bathroom."

"No," I say.

"Clary, c'mon. I get why you wouldn't hold her as a newborn—newborns are tiny and scary and weird looking. But she's cute now. Look at her." Izzy turns Alexandria to face me, and I admit, she is a cute little baby—a round face with a sweet little pink mouth and a button nose. Her small black eyes are exotic and pretty. She looks a lot like her mother.

But still, I say, "No."

"You're going to have to get over holding kids, Clary. You've got one inside you right now. It's gonna want to be held by its mother," Izzy says, giving me a look. "Trust me—not being at least cuddled by your mother is the worst for a kid."

I wince a little and peep over at her cautiously. "So…has your mother—?"

"She sent me that card when Alex was born—but that's it. No visit, no more cards—nothing." Izzy swishes her mouth back and forth a few times, her eyes getting fuzzy and hurt. Alex cooing is the only thing that makes her blink back into the moment. "Fine. C'mon, Alex. We're leaving."

"What? Why?" I ask quickly, frowning and turning towards them, away from the mirror and my atrocious reflection. "You said you'd help me pick out a dress to wear for when Jace gets home. He'll be here any minute."

"Clary, I have to pee. And I'm not leaving a four-month old baby just chilling out with you on the couch—I don't trust you. No offense." Izzy stands and hefts Alexandria with her. "So I'm going back to my room and putting the kid in the crib, and I shall then relieve myself."

"Izzy—"

"Just wear your nightgown or something. It's nighttime, anyway. Jace isn't going to care when he sees how big you've gotten this past month and a half he's been away. That bump is going to be the only thing he cares about."

I'm sure she's right. The idea of him being so thrilled over this child makes me sigh in defeat.

"Night, Clary," Izzy says. "Tell Mean Aunt Clary goodnight, Alex."

Alexandria, of course, just blows a few spit bubbles, and then they are gone.

* * *

I sit on the couch, twirling my wedding band around my finger, chewing my bottom lip, listening to Abel moan in grief over Jace's absence.

I'm nervous—nervous about his reappearance from the border he's been at so long now.

Glancing down at my curved out stomach, I sigh and rest my hands atop it. I've begun to feel the baby moving. It's the strangest feeling in the world, and it when it first happened, I was terrified.

Now, it's less scary. But yet…not.

I'm still afraid. Because it moving within me makes me realize it really is there—not just in theory but in reality.

So much is on my mind, especially tonight. My mother's plan that she still hasn't seen fit to tell me. Celine's appearance in my dream—that one time and one time only—and the blanks she left behind, without filling in. The arrival of this baby, which will be only in five months. Not even half a year before I have to come to terms with having a _child_.

The secrets I'm keeping from Jace.

That eats at me more than anything.

The urge to tell him—to purge and release myself from all these fibs and burdens—is strong.

On some level, I realize he will eventually know everything. There will be no way around that. And deeper within me, I know he'll be irreparably hurt. Wounded. Destroyed. By not only my betrayal but by his mother, his father, Samuel—_everyone_.

I find myself putting myself in his shoes often now. Thinking of how my own mother betrayed me, and I was hurt beyond all imagination, and then I think of how it will affect Jace, when he is not only betrayed by his mother but by almost everyone he knows.

_I don't want to hurt him_.

The thought comes just as suddenly as the doorknob of the apartment turns.

I jump up, guilty, and Abel cries, zipping over to the door—somehow knowing.

My chest is frozen with a held breath as the door slings open and Jace shuffles in, smiling down at the bouncing bundle of gray fur by his feet.

"Abel!" he says and immediately crouches down, letting the cat jump all over him, dusting him with gray fur—which matters not, seeing as how Jace is dirty already, as usual.

I take a deep breath and drift over, holding my stomach carefully.

Jace's golden eyes flicker up with the movement, and he's all soft and warm as he stares up at me from beneath the fringe of his messy curls and his lashes. "Hey," he says quietly, a tiny smile curling one side of his mouth.

"Hey," I reply, and I feel my heart beat—really hard—within my chest. I feel…pressure, like a squeezing sensation that takes hold of my whole body as we stare at each other, something wordless and strange and new and sudden passing between us.

Abel is still getting his belly thoroughly scratched and making loud purring sounds, but I don't hear it.

Jace's eyes drop down over my body, slowly, finding my stomach, his smile lights up his face. He's standing quickly, abandoning Abel—who meows his protest. Jace walks over to me and raises his hand swiftly but then hesitates, his eyes finding mine again, looking down at me almost questioningly.

I smile, gently, and take his hand, guiding it to my swelling stomach. "It started moving," I say.

"Really?" he asks, excited like a child almost. He's watching his hand move over my belly.

"Yeah."

"Did it scare you?" he inquires around a cute smirk, glancing at me briefly before returning his eyes to his exploring hand.

"Yeah," I admit with a tiny laugh. Strangely, all the anxiety I was feeling before he arrived has faded slightly, retreated to the back of my mind, his presence like a soothing balm.

"What's it feel like? When it's moving?" he questions curiously.

"I don't know…very strange."

Jace's mouth curls up briefly again. "Huh. Do you think it's a girl or a boy?"

"I have no clue."

"No motherly visions or predictions?" His eyes find mine again, and they are bright.

I smile and shake my head. "Hardly." I rest my hand over his, stilling it on my stomach. I'm not sure why I do it. It just feels natural. "What about you?"

"Boy," he announces without one moment's hesitation.

I roll my eyes. "Of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, looking hurt. "I'd be thrilled to have a girl, too. Little girls are sweeter to their dad, anyway. And look at Alexandria—she's great. I just think it's a boy."

I nod, allowing. "I guess we'll see."

"Guess so." Jace grins at me, and his eyes are still on fire.

* * *

"Will you cut my hair?" he asks, climbing out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

I'm perched on the bathroom countertop because he asked me to stay with him, so I could give him every single detail of the pregnancy while he was gone.

"Why do you want to cut it?" I inquire, eyeing his dripping wet curls.

"It's too long." He runs a hand through the shaggy mess, and water droplets scatter everywhere. "It's annoying."

"Do you trust me with scissors?" I question him, arching a brow.

He grins. "It's just hair, Clary. If you butcher it, it'll always grow back."

So I get the scissors and set him in a chair in the middle of the tiled bathroom. I snip and snip and snip, the blond curls dropping down on the floor quickly. It only takes me a few minutes to cut it all off, leaving it very, very short around his neck and ears, the only slightly long part on top, only an inch or so in length.

I take a towel and swipe down his shoulders, and then, because his skin looks so soft and new, almost like a baby's at his neck, untouched by the sun and elements, I reach up and brush my fingers along his hairline.

Jace immediately draws up.

I let out a surprised laugh. "Are you ticklish?"

"No," he lies, already jerking up into a standing position and facing me, before I can test my theory. "It's just sensitive there."

I roll my eyes but I'm smiling a little, shaking out the towel covered in his hair. Then I look at him and realize how much older he looks with his new haircut. His face is still young, but it's easier to see the manly definition of his face, the sharper cut of his cheekbones and the wisdom of his eyes without the curls hanging down into them, making him look boyish.

He glances in the mirror, runs his hand through the length up top roughly, making the hair stand up a little.

"Is it okay?" I ask.

He looks over at me and smiles. "Yeah. Perfect. Thanks."

I nod, a little enamored by the way he looks. He's so different. It's hard to see that boy I first met that night in the Wanderer, the arrogant, privileged, spoiled brat I thought he was then. And maybe he _was_ that then.

But not now.

* * *

A few moments later, I find Jace lifting me onto the bathroom counter.

His hand smoothes over my huge stomach reverently, his eyes watching its progress. I sit back and _watch_ him, smiling faintly as he wonders over my belly and the baby inside.

"Oh!" I gasp a little, and my smile widens despite myself. "Did you feel him kick?"

Jace looks up at me from underneath his lashes, his eyes glowing and a grin stretching across his face. "Yeah. I felt it. He's strong already." Jace reaches down and pulls up my nightgown over my protruding tummy, uncovering it so he can run his hands over my bare skin.

I sigh in relief.

But Jace doesn't look relieved at all. He's frowning now, staring down at my stomach with his eyes becoming increasingly glassy. It takes me a moment to realize that he almost looks as if he's about to cry.

"Jace? What's wrong?" I inquire urgently, sitting up straighter, bringing my hands up and running them through his now-short hair. The bristly strands around his neck and ears feel good against my fingertips.

He straightens to his full height, looking down at me in a little bit of…fear? "I don't want to be like my father, Clary. I just don't. I can't…I can't be a father like him."

His words are low and strained, almost horrified. Choked.

I smile gently, moving my hands to his cheeks. "Then don't be like him."

Jace rests his hands on either side of my hips, on the counter, leaning into me. His forehead touches mine. "What if I am, though?"

"Then I'll remind you of what a bastard you're being."

At this, Jace laughs, his eyes squinting, crinkling in that boyish way I love. I'm suddenly aware of how close he is, how long it's been since we've been together, and I want him. Badly.

I brush my thumbs over his cheekbones and kiss him, once, softly. "Jace?"

"Hm?" he inquires, kissing me back once, a brush of hot lips against mine that drives me crazy.

"I want you," I say.

"You've got me, honey," is his swift reply. He kisses me again, stronger now. Needier.

When we break apart, I leave my lips against his and whisper slowly, "I want you inside me."

Jace groans softly but pulls away from me, arching his brows and smirking playfully. "Oh, do you?"

I nod with a sweet smile.

He laughs and kisses me again before mumbling against my lips, "I think that can definitely be arranged."

I move my fingers into the longer part of his hair, tightening them into fists, pulling his head close to mine and holding it there as I attack his lips with mine. I want him closer but my stomach is in the way, and I feel the sudden creep of nerves crawling up my spine.

It's an unusual feeling, a sick feeling that's brewing inside me, and I have to break my lips away from his and whisper, "Jace?"

"Yeah?" he asks back, trying to follow my lips with his but I'm still pulling away. He frowns. "What's wrong?"

I hesitate, unsure of how to say what I want. How I feel. "I…I'm just…I'm so big. I mean…do you really want to do this? We don't have to. If you don't want me."

Jace just shakes his head and presses his lips to my neck, my jaw, my earlobe, and he whispers, "I always want you, Clary. Every second, of every hour, of every day. Always."

* * *

**As you can see, this was more of a subplot advancing chapter, the subplot being Clary and Jace's relationship. It needed to be done. The next chapter will be the same way. The main plot is right now revolving around the baby's birth, so once the kid's born, it'll shift back into the main plot. If you don't care about Jace and Clary's relationship so much, you can skip over the next chapter if you prefer! But I enjoy writing character development, so I'm just cutting loose and doing it! (: **


	63. Chapter 63

**A/N: I'm so excited for y'all to read this! AH!**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Three

**Two Weeks Later**

"Just hold out your arms."

"No," I say firmly, shaking my head at Jace and baby Alexandria, whom lays perfectly content in his arms, passed out, with her little mouth hanging open.

"She's asleep. She won't even move around," Jace urges.

"I'm not holding her."

"Clary—"

"NO!"

"Shhhh," he hisses, giving me a small, pointed glare before jerking his chin down to the slumbering baby. "Izzy will kill us both if Alex is pissy later tonight because she didn't get her nap."

I just cross my arms defiantly. "I'm not holding her, Jace. Don't ask me again."

He sighs tiredly. "Clary, you have to get used to this."

My stomach twists. "I can't."

"But you're going to _have_—"

"No, Jace. I _can't_. I can't do this. I just…I can't!" I manage to get out, and suddenly, my vision is blurry. Everything while pregnant feels so abrupt. Switching from happy to angry, from peaceful to nervous, from cheerful to sad—it's all so confusing.

I hate not being in control of my emotions better, and I blink furiously.

Jace's face softens, and his voice is much more gentle when he speaks again. "You _can_ do this. I know you can. You told me I was strong enough to get through everything, and I did—you are, too. You can, too."

"Jace, I just don't want to right now," I say dismissively, uncomfortable with his concern. I look anywhere but him.

"Here." He steps close to me, encroaching on my personal space, the snoozing baby between us. He cradles her to his chest and moves my arms around, until I'm making a cradle with my arms, too.

"Jace," I complain.

But he's stubbornly putting Alexandria into my arms. She's warm and heavier than I thought. I grip her with a death hold, terrified I'll drop her.

"Easy, Clary," Jace murmurs, pulling at my arms a little, loosening them around the baby. "You don't want to drop her, but you don't want to squeeze her to death, either."

I blush, embarrassed. "Okay, I held her. Take her back." I shift forward, holding Alexandria out to him, but he's already backing away.

"Just hold her for a few minutes. See she's not made of glass."

"I see that, Jace. Take her back!"

"No."

"Jace!"

"No!"

Alexandria squirms a little, waking with our rising voices, and I nearly panic. "Oh, God," I pray. "She's waking up, Jace! Take her back!"

"Clary, just because she's waking up doesn't mean she's going to start doing summersaults. Hold onto her."

"I hate you," I splutter and Alexandria stretches her chubby body out in my arms, yawning hugely.

Jace starts laughing, a surprisingly squeaky sound that under normal circumstances, I would tease him for relentlessly, but I don't find anything amusing at the moment.

Alexandria's little eyes blink open and she looks up at me curiously. I stare down at her, horrified.

And then she smiles—a big, slobbery, toothless grin. But it is slightly cute, even if I do find it gross.

"Aw, see. She likes you." Jace comes to stand beside me, peers down at her, too.

When she sees him, her roll-y little arms immediately go out to him, her chubby fingers clenching in the air. She squirms.

"Look, she wants you," I say quickly, practically shoving her into Jace's arms.

He sighs but takes her anyway, and then she proceeds to pull at his ear and make him wince, which makes her laugh delightedly. He says, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

I just ignore him and go towards my easel. I begin painting, and I carefully tune him out, as he tells Alexandria that while, yes, I am mean at first, I do have a softer side, too.

* * *

**Three Months Later**

"I'm fat," I moan and then shove another cookie into my mouth.

"You're beautiful," Jace says, sitting beside me on the couch, his head in a book.

"Shut up," I say viciously.

"God, you _are_ the meanest pregnant woman I've ever seen. And I thought you were mean before—now, you're just plain evil."

"Keep saying shit like that, and you'll see evil," I announce furiously, my mouth full of food. I can't stop eating, and I don't try to stop now. I'm past the point of no return.

Jace sinks into the couch a bit more, the book hiding his face.

"I have to pee. Help me up," I order, already holding my hands out.

Jace sighs but gets up obediently. Some days I do feel rather bad for him. I've been fairly irritable these past few weeks, especially. I'm tired of being fat and getting fatter. I'm tired of having swollen ankles. I'm tired of being tired.

Jace stands in front of me, takes my hands, and hauls me up—because I've gotten that big. If I hadn't asked Doctor Garroway about it, I would swear I'm having twins.

He said no. Just one baby. He asked Jace and I if we wanted to know what gender it was, and before I could even open my mouth, Jace was exclaiming a firm NO!

He wants it to be a surprise.

I roll my eyes every time I think about it. He is surprisingly ridiculous about this child. He's already gotten a new apartment in the hotel for us—one with an extra room—for the kid.

I sigh.

"What's wrong?" Jace inquires.

"Nothing," I mutter, shuffling towards the bedroom, and consequently, the bathroom. When I get back, I pause in the doorway of our bedroom and look at him, his legs all sprawled over the coffee table, his teeth working his bottom lip as he excitedly scans whatever book he's reading. He's wearing sweapants and a pullover, despite how warm it's gotten outside again, but I've been dying of heatstroke and demanding we keep it frigid in here.

As I stare at him, I worry, because I'm getting increasingly attached to him.

The longer the time passes, the more understanding he is about my mood swings and strange demands, the more soft touches he gives me, the more I-love-you's he says…they chip away at me. He's doing it on purpose, of course, slowly eating away at my steely resolve to keep my distance from him.

But it's impossible.

His child is growing inside me. He's my husband. We live together. We sleep together. We do _everything_ together, now.

How else can I keep my distance?

How else can I keep all of this from blowing up, from destroying everything and everyone?

I can't.

That's also impossible.

Inevitable.

* * *

**One Month Later**

_Celine is here, in my dream again. _

_ It's snowing._

_ She's smiling, her mouth moving but no sound reaching my deaf ears._

_ I cock my head at her, mouth the words, "I can't hear you."_

_ She just smiles wider and shakes her head. She points at something above us, so I look. The sky is gray and filled with falling flakes of pure white. There's nothing there, though, except the dim outline of the white sun, hidden behind clouds._

_ I look at Celine again, confused._

_ She just points again._

_ So I look again._

_ Nothing._

_ When I look down again, she's gone, and in her place is a door—freestanding in the middle of wintery landscape. It's a plain, oak door with a strange carving on it—a series of loops and swirls and foreign words._

_ I go towards it, pause before it. _

_ My hand goes out, trembling slightly, and I touch it. My fingers are warmed by it, and I push, cracking it open. There's light inside of it, and I need to go in, to find out why, but then I feel a stab of pain in my stomach._

_ And when I look down, I see the drops of crimson splattering on the white beneath me._

_ From me._

_ The baby._

* * *

"Jace," I whisper, in a panic.

He's just a dark lump beside me, unmoving in our black bedroom.

"Jace!" I cry, shoving at his shoulder—hard.

He groans, irritated, because despite how kind he's been these past months, he still doesn't take kindly to being woken in the middle of the night. "What?" he mumbles into his pillow.

"I'm…I'm hurting."

"What do you need?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep, slow and uncomprehending.

"I…I don't know. I think…I think I'm going to have the baby," I whisper, my lips trembling.

Jace is dead still for exactly sixteen-seconds, because I count.

And then he's flying upright and the lamp is on and he's staring down at me in the same panic I'm feeling and his hair is sticking up in every direction. "Holy shit! _Now_?"

"Yes," I say, my voice strangely calm.

"Oh, God," Jace is saying quickly, getting out of bed and yanking on his pants but he doesn't bother zipping his fly or even pulling them up completely over his boxers. He yanks on a t-shirt—inside out—and goes for the phone. "I'll, um, call Doctor Garroway."

"I think I'd rather you take me down to the infirmary," I say, and my voice is so smooth it scares me.

"What? Clary…I don't think I should be moving you around—"

"Jace, I'm in labor—not dealing with a broken spine. So please, take me downstairs."

He chews on his fingernail—which he's never even done before—and looks torn and petrified. "Clary, I'm scared."

I almost laugh, but the pain is getting pretty intense as I slowly sit up. I can only manage a short little chuckle. "Yeah, me too."

Jace is just quiet, like a deer in the headlights.

"You're going to need to do _something_, sweetie," I prod gently. "I'm in some discomfort right now."

"Right." He blinks, snapping back into reality. He calls Doctor Garroway anyway, because he insists, and the doctor brings up a wheelchair immediately and

Jace picks me up and puts me in it and then we're going.

And I'm going to have this child.

It's truly happening, and I'm suddenly not as afraid anymore.

Because Jace is afraid enough for both of us. He's talking rapidly the whole time down to the infirmary, babbling like a nervous child, until Doctor Garroway has to tell him to please be quiet because it might be upsetting me—but it isn't upsetting me at all.

I'm going to have this child.

This child.

_My_ child.

It's real now, more than it's ever been. The pain is what makes me understand, I think. It's the pain that makes me realize how this is _my_ child—the child I've carried for nine months, the child that I'm now having to birth. It's mine. The pain is what binds us more than anything else.

I'm not afraid anymore—of anything.

Because I think, if I can survive this pain, I can survive anything. I can _do_ anything. I can _admit_ everything.

To Jace.

Because this is binding us, too.

He's beside me the whole time, turning a little green, but he's holding my hand, and I'm squeezing it tight enough to hurt him, but even when his fingers are turning purple, he doesn't say a word.

He doesn't tell me to be strong.

To breathe.

He doesn't say I'll be okay.

Because he knows he doesn't have to. He's talked to me this whole pregnancy, always telling me I'm beautiful when I felt fat, telling me all the right things but the things I didn't really care to hear.

And now, when it matters the most, he knows just exactly what to say—which is nothing.

* * *

**Twelve Hours Later**

There's this look of rapture on Jace's face, as if the sun is rising before his very eyes and instead of having to hide his face from the potent burn and light, he can simply watch it—without fear of being blind because he doesn't care if he's going blind. Some beauty is worth going blind for.

That's how he looks at our son when he first holds him.

Jonathan Christopher Wayland, the second.

JC.

That's what we immediately decide to call him, just to bother Valentine mostly, since he hates nicknames.

I wanted to name him Samuel, in honor of the man and Jace's true father figure, but Jace had just shook his head when I mentioned it.

"My father," is all he had said, but he wasn't upset. He just seemed accepting of it, that he couldn't name our child after Samuel for fear of Valentine's wrath.

Now, I don't think anything could upset Jace, not as he holds JC carefully, his eyes wide as he looks down at the tiny pink newborn.

"Sit beside me," I croak, my voice hoarse. I pat the bed.

Jace climbs carefully next to me, and he rests his head on my shoulder and I rest my head on his, inhaling the smell of his hair as we stare down tiredly at the finally sleepy JC.

He cried for the first hour of his life.

And now, he's sleeping peacefully, and even though he's blotchy and smooshed and strange, he's still beautiful.

"We made this," Jace murmurs.

"I know."

"Look how perfect."

"He is pretty perfect," I whisper.

"And he's _ours_."

I smile into Jace's hair, at the wonder in his voice. "He is."

"I didn't think I could love anyone this much," Jace says, simply.

"Me, either," I reply, and it's the first time I've ever felt like this, like I'm bursting with warmth every second, like I can't fully get a deep breath, in a permanent state of hyperventalition—and it's all so beautiful.

"I don't have the words," Jace says, and his voice is a little broken and I know he must be crying.

I just inhale deeply and shut my eyes. "I don't either," I say, because it's true.

Words are inadequate.

Inadequate to describe everything—the tiredness in my body, the fullness in my chest, the peacefulness radiating within me, knowing…

Knowing that my family is here, beside me.

* * *

**IT'S A BOY! Thoughts? All the moms reading this, did I sorta do justice to how it feels to have a baby? I have no idea! I hope I did! **


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N: LAST UPDATE OF THE NIGHT! Maybe. I might...MIGHT post one more. I'm not sure. I've been writing this all afternoon, though, and I want a little break. So I'm going to update Always and Forever. But anyway, enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Four

"Look at him!"

Jace is stiff and tense, holding JC to his chest tightly, glaring at his father, who is already going for the baby.

I find my own body is tense, too, an urgent sense of protectiveness welling up inside me from where I lay, rather helplessly, in the infirmary bed.

"Let me hold him," Valentine says.

"No," Jace replies. "I haven't even held him two hours yet, Father. I'm not letting you touch him."

"Jonathan, don't be stubborn." Valentine glares coldly. "I'm the child's grandfather. I have a right—"

"You have no rights that supersede my own—as his father," Jace snaps, but there's an undeniable sense of pride floating in his voice at the last word.

I almost smile, but I'm too tired.

"Give him to me," Valentine says, a disturbing note quivering in his voice.

"No," Jace responds, his voice calm and firm.

They stare at each other for the longest time, and the tenseness of their standoff presses down against me dizzyingly.

And then JC starts crying—suddenly and hiccupped. He writhes around in Jace's hold, and I sit up a bit. "He's hungry," I whisper, not very sure but hoping to defuse the situation between Jace and his father.

It works.

Jace hands me our son, and Valentine stands down immediately.

"Get out," Jace says to his father.

"Jonathan—"

"She's not feeding him with you in here," Jace grumbles, glaring briefly at his father before returning his gaze to me and our tiny baby in my arms.

Valentine deflates again. "Oh, yes, of course," he murmurs, realizing what feeding entails and then he leaves us.

Jace appears to crumple as soon as the door closes behind his father, his body going slack as he falls out on the bed beside me. "What an asshole."

I laugh once before resting my head on Jace's shoulder. "Don't let him bother you."

"I'm not." Jace turns and kisses my temple softly. Then he's quiet for a moment, before he adds, rather hesitantly, "I love you, Clary."

And despite everything, my mouth gets dry and I get scared.

And I can't say anything back.

* * *

**One Day Later**

My mother walks into the room carefully.

JC is in my arms, and Jace is beside me in the bed, as he's been for the past few hours. He doesn't seem to want to let JC and myself out of his sight. I keep feeling his eyes shift between our child and me, back-and-forth-back-and-forth. As if he's afraid we'll disappear.

"Mom," I say in surprise, sitting up a bit. JC inhales deeply in my arms, sleeping soundly.

"Hello," she replies, offering a tentative smile.

Jace sits up, too, and nods at my mother. "Mrs. Fray."

"Jace," Mother murmurs, her gloved hands clutched daintily in front of her. "How is the baby?"

"Perfect," Jace says. And then he surprises me by adding, "Do you want to hold him?"

He didn't let his own father hold him, but he'll let my mother. Because he's kind. Trusting.

He shouldn't be.

"No," I blurt quickly.

Jace looks over at me, his eyes wide, but my mother isn't shocked. She sees the hatred brimming in my eyes—hot and sudden and overwhelming.

Because I've gotten my first taste of mother hood, and even in these past hours I've had my child, I know, for a fact, deep within me, that I would never do to him what my mother has done to me—for no reason, for no revenge, for nothing.

"Uh," Jace says.

"Can I speak with my mother for a moment, Jace?" I ask, touching his arm.

He's suspicious, I can tell, but not of me. Never of me anymore.

He _trusts_ me.

"Sure," he says and kisses me softly before getting up and shuffling out of the room—not before peeping back at JC.

Then he's gone, and Mother drifts over to me, wringing her hands together. She peers down at the sleeping JC and smiles, just faintly. "He's precious."

"Yes, he is," I murmur, touching JC's soft little cheek. He stirs a bit in his sleep.

"I can't tell who he looks like yet," Mother says, tilting her head, inspecting him.

"He looks like Jace," I reply curtly, glaring at my mother. "Why are you here?"

"I came to see my grandchild."

I laugh humorlessly. "Don't bullshit me, Mother. I know better than to think you care about me or my child."

"I don't know why you feel that way," Mother says sharply. "I thought we were on better terms now—"

"It still doesn't change the fact that you used me! And now I see—I see because this is _my child_—that it's completely wrong and unnatural that you'd use me like you have. I'd never do any of this to him," I say, tilting my chin down to JC.

"Clary," Mother says, his voice quivering—but not with anger. When I meet her eyes, I'm shocked to find them teary. "I never wanted to do this to you—I never wanted _any_ of this for you. But I couldn't…I _couldn't_ let it go. I just couldn't. I _can't_. It eats at me all the time, every day, every hour, every _second_. How can I just move on? How can I knowing that Valentine is up to something, that he is living comfortably and happily and I have lost almost everyone?"

"You didn't lose me!" I cry. "You never lost me! I was still there, Mom! I always have been! And _I've never been enough_!"

Mother blinks, a few tears spilling over, and she jerks back, her mouth going slack. "N-no…no, you—no, Clary. That's not true."

"But it is. You've just admitted it," I whisper, my voice a little raw. My throat is tight. "You never cared about me, Mother. When I was born, maybe. When I was a child, maybe. But everything you've ever done until now has been for revenge—never for me. You never saw me. You never _loved_ me—not like you should have. Not like I loved _you_," I say, and my voice breaks on the last word, and I'm vulnerable and ashamed.

Mother doesn't know what to say. She just stares at me, her eyes wide and tear-filled.

"Just go," I whisper, looking away from her, down to JC.

Mother says silent for the longest time, and I think she's trying to come up with something to say—some sort of apology maybe, one that will fall short but be there nonetheless.

But then, she says, almost frantically, "So you won't finish the plan? I'll tell you now—I'll tell you everything."  
I shut my eyes, shake my head, my lips pressed together tightly.

"Clary, please," she begs. "_Please_."

"Mother, no. I'm not. I can't do whatever it is."

"Then all of this is for nothing?"

"I'm stopping while I'm ahead."

There's a beat of stunned silence. "So what? You'll just raise this child, let Valentine corrupt it, watch as his plans—whatever they are—come together? You'll lay down at night with Jace, pretend you love him?"

I don't say anything, but my face must display something.

Because Mother goes quiet again before murmuring, very slowly and nastily, "Oh, I see. You _do_ love him—or so you think."

I can't speak. I've forgotten how.

"You've become infatuated with him—the enemy."

"He's not…he's not the enemy," I say, managing to find my voice briefly, instinctually.

"You think you love him! I can't believe it! How could you be so stupid, Clary? Do you honestly think he loves you back? He's Valentine's son! He's been raised by Valentine! He's a Guardian—and Guardians do not respect humans."

The memories of Jace's slurs towards Simon's humanity flash through my mind, but I shake my head. "He's…he's different. He's _good_, Mother."

"He's only good because you're carrying his child," she sneers. "Hasn't he been so much sweeter since you've become pregnant? He's been kissing the ground you walk on, hasn't it? Clary, don't be so ignorant!"

"I'm not!" I cry. "I'm not being ignorant! Jace is a good man—"

"The Guardianship is corrupt. All of them. If he were such a good man, he would change things—make a difference—take down his father and make the Guardians the protectors they were meant to be to us humans—not tyrants. He would do all of this—but has he ever even mentioned to you his aspriations for his rule? Has he ever even once suggested that he feels for the humans?"

I press my lips together, my chest hitching up and down.

Mother's face is suddenly close to mine, her expression intense and strained. "Clary, there's only one way to free all the humans from this rule. Only _one_ way. Will you really put all the humans' well-beings at jeopardy for a _crush_ you have on a man that is part of the source of our oppression?

"Mother, what do you suggest I do?" I ask tightly, my head is heavy. Tired.

I just want to sleep.

"This child is key, Clary." Mother's hand goes out, and she touches JC, she touches _my son_. "He's so important. He changes _everything_."

"What are you talking about?" I mumble.

"I'll tell you when the time comes—when I think you're ready."

I'm so tired that I don't even feel enraged. I just let out another humorless laugh and say, "Thought you said you were going to tell me everything."

"In time, Clary. In time."

I have nothing more to say to her, so she leaves.

I'm relieved when Jace comes back.

* * *

**Jocelyn sucks. I'm convinced. When I first started writing her, I felt for her. But now she's kind of morphed into this character that I understand but hate for her manipulative streak. I'm not yet sure if she can be redeemed.**


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N: Okay. Breakdown time! Sorry I haven't updated Half Truths in a while. This is just the way it is, though. I'm at a point now where I see the ending in sight. I've got it mapped out how I want it to go down. BUT. How to get there? There's a lot of things I'm unsure about right now, and I just simply can't move on. I can't force it. I write and let the story reveal itself to me. The story hasn't fully revealed itself to me, yet. YET. So, in response, I am taking a week-long break on this story. Maybe longer, maybe shorter, but roughly a week. I need time to gather my thoughts and think. I can't force anything, and I'm forcing everything now and IT'S JUST NOT WORKING! Ah. Driving me crazy. Now, I know I suck. I'm very sorry. BUT TRUST ME WHEN I SAY THIS STORY WILL BE FINISHED. We are in the home stretch, y'all. Like maybe five chapters left. I'm sad, but very grateful. Y'all have just been amazing. I can't even begin to express how blown away I am by the response to this story. Seriously.**

**Now, some of you might be following Always and Forever. I have an announcement for that one, too. I won't be updating it but maybe once a week or less. It's a slower moving story really for my own amusement, so I'll just be taking it easy on that one. I don't think any of y'all will be too horribly broken up by that.**

**Another announcement I have is about a new story I'm working on called Underground. I posted the first chapter, and I would be honored/delighted/thrilled to get some of y'all over there to check it out. I think the people that like Half Truths will also like Underground. There's that same kind of futuristic, alternate universe vibe to it, and there will be PLOT. Major plot. Romance is the subplot, just like this, except the romance in Underground will be even more slow moving than this one. **

**To give a quick overview of it, it will be told in alternating POV's, going from Jace's POV to Clary's. They live in an underground (hence the name) city after some sort of atomic destruction. The city is divided into different sections, and Jace and Clary's section is the 34th District. Jace is the head of a little gang that causes a bit of trouble. But he's still fairly young. He's hot-headed in this one but also is more willing to show a softer side. He's not afraid of being emotional, especially when it comes to Clary who he views a little sister almost. Clary is in an orphanage, but Jace kind of takes her under his wing. The plot revolves around a series of murders going on. So it's kind of like an old mystery/cop show/ sci-fi/ futuristic/ character-development-rich/ weirdo thing I've made up. ANYWAY, check it out...if you want something to do between updates of Half Truths. (: I'd be much obliged!**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Five

**One Month Later**

"Hey," I say, as soon as he comes in from training.

He must have showered there because the scent of his soap drifts over to me powerfully just as he walks into the apartment, his hair freshly scrubbed. He grins over at me. "Hey."

I smile playfully and drift over to him with exaggerated movements. "How has your day been?"

"Wonderful. Yours?" he inquires, arching a brow down at me as he dumps his bag full of sweaty clothes to the floor.

"Good," I reply, nodding.

"Where's JC?" he asks, glancing around our new, bigger apartment. It's spotless, thanks to my efforts. I've felt energized all day today, for the first time in a month, and it allowed me to clean up the myriad of onesies and socks and pacifiers discarded in fury. I like cleaning it up myself more so than the maids. They never put things back in the right place.

"He's at Izzy's—having a playdate with Alexandria," I murmur.

"Oh, yeah?" Jace's smirk is almost sinful. "He's a little too young to be having playdates, isn't he?"

"Yes, but we aren't," I reply playfully, running my hands up his chest, meeting his eyes with mine.

He stares down at me for a brief moment, and then our lips are crashing together hotly, desperately. It's different than usual, though, because we are both laughing as we stagger towards the bedroom, trying not to break the lock of our lips as we go.

Then we're both fed up with trying to make it to our room, and I'm pulling at his neck, dragging him to the floor with me. We land in an ungraceful heap on the floor, still laughing, although the sound is a lot more breathless now.

It's been so long since we've been together, and I'm frantically unfastening his pants, not in the mood to waste any time, and Jace holds himself above me as I go.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Jace asks me, his lips skimming hotly over my temple and cheek.

"Yes," I murmur, yanking down his zipper. "The doctor said to wait at least a month."

"It's just been a month today."

"I'm ready," I say firmly. I reach into his boxers and find him rigid and leaking. My eyes find his as I squeeze his length gently, watching as his face tightens in pleasure. "But we can wait, if you want to."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"No, seriously. I don't want to pressure you," I say, barely managing to keep a straight face. I stroke him once, gently.

He lets out a half agonized groan. "Fuck, Clary. Now is not the time to be a tease."

"I'm not being a tease. I'm being considerate of your feelings," I reply to him.

He gives me a doubtfully playful look, and then he's dragging his fingers down my ribs, making me giggle a little breathlessly before his hand slips under my night gown, immediately finding my panties and yanking them down swiftly.

I pull him free of his boxers and he pushes my gown up, and I'm aching for him but now it's his turn to tease. He's not done tickling me yet, and he totures me with it, making me squirm and buck wildly beneath him, laughing and somehow becoming even more aroused as I move.

"Jace, stop," I order because I don't like being tickled. I detest it, in fact, because it has always made me feel out of control, helpless. Tonight, though, it's not all bad, I have to admit, albeit begrudgingly.

Jace's hands slip under my dress again, up over my bare hips, to my naked sides, to tickle even harder, and I writhe beneath him, trying to stop him, laughing harder than I have in what feels like years.

And then he's inside me—just like that, with no warning at all. The abruptness of it, the sudden invasion of my body with his, is glorious, and I clench around him, gasping once before letting out a low moan, all laughter forgotten as my fingers dig into his shoulder blades.

He begins moving, slowly at first, groaning under his breath. The hands he has on my bare waist beneath my gown tighten. He plunges deep within me, holds himself there for a moment, as if savoring the feeling of finally being connected with me again, for the first time in months, and then his movements are no longer slow after that.

Frantic and wild and desperate.

For hours.

We cry out each other's names softly in the fading light of our apartment, reacquainting ourselves with one another once again, enjoying the pleasure of our union. We go from slow to fast, fast to slow, whatever we feel like in the moment, and the strange thing is, we always feel the same as each other—never sharing a difference of opinion.

It's the first time I see beyond the pure lust. It's the first time I look into Jace's eyes as he moves above me and really _see_ him. It's the first time I feel a connection. Ever. With anyone.

I'm struck by how many times I've looked into someone's eyes over the years. You make eye-contact with hundreds of people, thousands of times. You look at someone, they look back, but I've never really _seen_ someone until now. I've never looked into another's eyes and seen more, and I've never had someone look back at me in the same way. There's a meaningfulness to the way we look at each other. It means something _more_.

I just don't know what.

* * *

Jace's fingers dance idly up and down my spine as I press my cheek to his chest and hear his heart gradually slow.

"How do you feel?" I ask him.

"Happy. You?"

"The same."

Jace's fingers freeze, and I feel him stiffen hopefully. I think he might ask me to elaborate, but I can't of course. I have no idea what has come over me. It's terrifying and dizzying and so new. So many different things flying at me at once until I can't sort my emotions properly.

And somehow, Jace knows this because all he says is "Good." But there's a satisfied smile in his voice as he says it.

* * *

Celine is standing there in my dream, looking at me fiercely.

She points up.

I look up, see that same door once again. She's trying to tell me something, but the vision of her is weak and flickering, as if she's not strong enough to hold the connection.

"What is it?" I ask, but no sound comes from my lips.

Her own mouth moves in response, but she's too far away from me to read what she's saying.

"What?" I inquire, frowning.

She moves forward. Moves her lips again.

Still, I don't understand.

The snowy world around us shimmers and tilts, and then, suddenly, I'm in my old apartment, the one my mother still lives in. I'm standing in the living room, gazing around at the darkened place, a strange sense of panic brewing inside me.

There's a gun lying on the table. It's silver and small but dangerous. Loaded, something tells me. Loaded and ready to kill.

I step back from it, horrified, and then the world shifts again, and I'm standing on the rooftop of the Wanderer. It's cold. Windy. I shiver, grasping at my arms, trying to hold in some warmth.

Jace is standing on the edge of the roof, his shoes peeping over the ledge, and I scream for him to get down. But the wind has stolen my voice. There's nothing but its loud whistle filling the air.

So I run forward, to stop him, because he's going to jump, just like he said he would a long time ago.

He tilts forward.

I scream again, in vain, and my hands reach out desperately for him, but it's too late. He's already falling.

I grab just a small shred of cloth from him before he's gone.

But the cloth feels strange between my fingers, and I look down.

It's not cloth at all but a single, white feather. Part of an angel's wing, soft and beautiful and elegant. The color of purity and snow. Renewing.

I stare down at it, hopeful, because maybe Jace wasn't jumping. Maybe he was flying.

But then I watch in horror as the tip of the feather turns, turns bright red. Crimson. The color of blood.

The stain leaks down, running slowly over the entire length, until it is all red and I'm gasping, dropping it, trying to get away and get of this nightmare.

I turn, and I'm in the snowy park again, and Celine is right in front of me, her eyes wide.

"Find the book," she says quickly, and her voice comes out strong, as if she were right beside me saying it into my ear. "Find the book and find the answers."

And then I'm waking up.

But not before I hear Celine's final words, echoing as a warning in my head, over and over again.

_Before it's too late._

* * *

**Blah. Worst chapter ever. I promise I won't subject y'all to that kind of crap again. I just felt like I needed to give y'all something and some kind of explanation as to what was going on. I would ask for reviews but I'm too scared to hear from y'all on this one. So just...ignore it. (:**


	66. Chapter 66

**A/N: I'VE GOT IT! Yes! I finally have some inspiration back, and I've seen everything I need to to finish this story! I'm so sorry it's been so long, but I'm just gonna be honest with y'all, I had NOTHING.**

**Anyway, that being said, I have tons of things to mention.**

**Firstly, it's been so long since I have messed with this story, I've gotten a lot of reviews. And unfortunately, I don't know what review I responded to last. So, would y'all hate me if, JUST THIS ONE TIME, I didn't respond to the reviews? When y'all start reviewing for this chapter, I PROMISE I will start back responding to EVERYONE. I just have like four or five pages of reviews, and I'm not even sure how many I have, actually, that I haven't responded to. Would y'all hate me? If someone asked me a question, please PM me or review again and re-ask it. I'll respond, PROMISE.**

**Secondly, I have an Instagram now! Not my personal one, but one for my account. Someone thought it'd be a good idea. And I thought it'd be fun, myself. If you're a visual person, follow me at purrina57 on Instagram for pictures that inspire me for my stories, for pictures of Abel, for pictures of random things I like so some of y'all can get to know me better, and for a distorted picture of my nose, mouth, and one eye! (: YAY! I'd be very flattered if you'd check it out, at least! **

**Thirdly, someone left a very negative review, one that hurt my feelings, if we're being honest. I'm all about constructive critisism, but there is nothing constructive about calling my work a porno with no plot. That's just rude, actually. I'm not making anyone read this, okay? If I put too many lemons in, I'm sorry. But I didn't make you read all the way to Chapter 65. Don't like it, don't read it. It's simple. If you don't like something, bring it to my attention in a polite way. I will deal with it and thank you for your input. BUT I WILL NOT tolerate someone being ugly to me. I try to be a nice person. I HATE being mean to anyone, and I let a lot of things slide. But if you're rude to me so brutally, I'm not letting that slide. Now, that was a long rant and I apologize. I just felt the need to defend myself.**

**Fourthly, there seems to be something very important that I've forgotten... Hm. Oh, I don't think I mentioned it on here, but I have a new story called Underground out now. I think it will definitely appeal to all my Half Truths fans. It's a different world and relationship, but it has the same kind of feeling, I suppose. It's also got a lot more plot than this story. A LOT more. It's a character study, too, but it's more of a mystery. So check it out if you want! (:**

**Fifthly, THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE I MEANT TO TELL Y'ALL AND I CAN'T REMEMBER! UGHHHHHHH! So enjoy! (:**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Six

**Two Months Later**

JC's giggles fill the air as Jace tosses him up, again and again, making me more and more nervous each time. He always catches our tiny son, of course, but seeing JC hovering up in the air like that, so small and vulnerable, makes me frown.

"Jace, stop," I tell him.

"Why?" he asks, catching our baby again and cradling him easily in his arms. The way he touches JC is so natural—never awkward like I am. I try. I really do. And it has gotten easier. It's not a measure of my love for JC. It's just not the most natural thing for me to do—to hold him and carry him. He's so small, so easily hurt. I'm better now—but not Jace. I don't have his ease.

"It makes me nervous," I tell him, folding JC's baby clothes carefully. We're standing in his nursery, the one Izzy and I worked on ourselves. It's soft baby blue, with classical furniture and a warm feel—the kind of feel I always wanted in my own rooms as a child. I'll give that comfort to my own son.

"I'm not going to drop him," Jace replies, rolling his eyes, before lifting JC up and blowing on his stomach. JC squeals in laughter.

I smile a bit despite myself, peeping over to watch as JC kicks his chubby little legs in excitement. He's gotten much cuter since he was first born. In fact, he's the cutest baby I've ever seen. I thought I might have been a bit biased at first, but the consensus seems to be that JC is perfect, from everyone. And even I know that if my baby was ugly, I would not be able to lie to myself and fool myself into thinking he was cute.

JC's little head is perfectly round, his nose a sweet button, his eyes shockingly big and shockingly blue. He's still bald, but he does have a few wisps of fair hair, hair I suspect will turn the same golden color of his father's in time. His cheeks are chubby, his eyelashes long and curling.

Simply put, he's precious.

And I love him. So much so that it almost shocks me sometimes. It's unconditional love. I don't know him that well, after all. But I love him more than anything else in the world, a love that just is and always will be.

It's so strange.

"I don't want to leave," Jace sighs, lowering JC and holding him against his side. JC grabs at Jace's t-shirt collar, yanks on it for a moment before putting it into his mouth and gnawing. Jace hardly seems to mind.

"I don't want you to," I reply before I can stop myself. The last few months, the baby has softened me. As well as Jace's continuing adoration towards me. And the lines are so blurred they aren't even there anymore. I can't see which way is up.

And I'm content.

Frighteningly content.

Jace smiles, his eyes lighting. He's pleased with my steadily collapsing boundaries.

He walks over and kisses my temple. JC reaches out and grabs a handful of my hair as he continues chewing at Jace's shirt.

"I'll miss you two," Jace whispers against my skin.

I smile a little and lean into him, but I don't reply. I've already said too much lately. And I'm still waiting for my mother to reappear, to drag everything back up, to confuse things even more.

Part of me knows, though.

Part of me knows, no matter how peaceful these last few months have been, it can't last forever—with or without Mother's return. Valentine is horrible. He's up to something, too. And the Guardianship is corrupt. And its true purpose has been lost. And my marriage itself is a lie. Too many things are lurking in the shadows, and I will have to face them sooner or later, because things left in the dark eventually drag themselves out, without your approval.

I think I'd rather deal with the things on my own terms, to control them in some way.

I think I need to tell Jace.

Everything.

My breathing shudders, and Jace rubs my arm once, comfortingly. "I love you, Clary," he whispers against my ear before dipping his head, kissing my neck softly.

I shut my eyes. Think what I've already thought through. I think it again and again, on a loop, mostly at night. The conundrum never changes.

I can't tell him, now, though, the night before he leaves for the 2nd border. He needs to have a clear head.

I'll tell him when he gets back.

That's what I'll do.

The tightening in my chest fades a bit, and I can breathe properly again, can think clearly.

So the rest of my evening, I relax with my family. I'm free of worry, able to enjoy the moment. For the time being.

I know. I know this will not last.

I just wish with everything that it could.

* * *

I'm putting JC down for his nap the next day, after Jace has left, when I hear the knock on the door.

And somehow, I know it's her.

"Mother," I say, unsurprised, when I've opened the door and find her.

"Hello, Clary," she replies softly, peeping around me. "Is Jace here?"

"No, but I'm sure you already knew that," I murmur, stepping away to let her in. I click across the floor in my heels carefully, my arms crossed over my chest, my face wary. "What is it that you want? No bullshit. Just tell me."

Mother follows me in, pulling off her white gloves daintily as her eyes are cast around the new apartment. "This is nice," she says, ignoring everything I've just said—as always. "Very nice. I suppose you'd be hesitant to leave this behind."

"You think that a luxurious place to live is what keeps me from being on board with your plans?" I ask dully.

"I think that the person that lives here with you is what keeps you from being on board," she returns coolly, her eyes easily slipping back to meet mine levelly.

"Jace," I say.

"Jace," she agrees.

I snort and put my hands on my hips, shaking my head. "You don't know anything, Mother. As always, you know nothing about me or my feelings. I suppose if we're being honest, you just don't care."

"Don't act so pitiful, Clarissa," Mother says, slightly sharp. "I've worked my entire life to support you. I've done things no woman should have to. I tried the best I could."

"By throwing me to the lions?" I inquire as I drift over to the teacart.

"You seem to be enjoying the lions," she says back, a bit nastily. "You've acclimated quite well, I'd say. Look at this place. Look at the way you dress. Look at all of the luxury around you."

"Mother, I'm not arguing with you," I murmur, pouring myself a cup of steaming tea. "I just want you to tell me your plan, and then I want you to get out. No more games."

"I want you to kill Jace."

My teacup, which I've just brought to my lips, drops from my hand like a stone, shattering against the floor into a thousand pieces. The hot liquid splashes up onto my toes and ankles, burning me, but I don't feel it as I turn towards my mother, my forcibly calm demeanor now gone.

"What?" is all I can get out.

Mother jumps onto my shock quickly, manically. "I want you to kill him. He trusts you. You can get close and make it look like an accident. I have a poison for you to give him. It won't show up on any tests. You'll have to time it right. Just before he goes to a border, feed it to him the night before, and he'll get dizzy the next day—and one moment's hesitation will get him killed out with the demons."

"You have to be joking with me, Mother," I rasp.

"I'm not," she says, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and excited. Insane. "You have to kill him, Clary. Along with Valentine. But his death will come later—so it won't be so obvious."

"Mother, _no_."

"Then, when they are both dead, the child will be the key. He'll become the new leader of the Guardianship. They'll have someone to fill in, but when JC comes of age, he'll be the one. It's the way it always is. Then, we can rule the Guardianship ourselves, Clary! We can fix _everything_. We can make this right—and kill Valentine."

"No!" I scream, the sound echoing off the walls, shuddering back to us. I blink furious tears away as I glare at her. "No! I won't do! I'm not going to fucking do it!"

There's crying from JC's room. I woke him with my outburst.

Neither of us move, though, as we stare in challenge at each other across the floor.

"You will," Mother says, her voice low and terrifying. "You will do it."

"No," I say back, firmly. My head shakes in a violent, jerky motion. "I will not kill the father of my child. I won't do what Valentine did to me."

"Clary, this is what the plan was—the whole time."

"No."

"Yes!" Mother screams back, surprising me, making me jump because she's never been so loud with me before. "You will do it, and you will do it the very next time Jace goes away!"

"I'm telling you that I won't," I murmur, my voice shaking and quiet now. My fingers shiver. "I won't do it. I'd rather die than do it."

"You think you love him," she snarls in disgust, her face contorting so that I wonder how this is the same woman that raised me. Is this the true her? Or has revenge made her this way?

The questions terrify me more than anything. Because the answers mean so much.

"Do you honestly think he gives a shit about you, Clarissa?" she snaps. "You're his wife—his property. He wants you to push out children for him. He wants you so he can get his needs met. That's it."

"No, he doesn't," I whisper, my lips trembling. "I'm good at reading people. You taught me that much, Mother. He really does love me. He loves our child, too. I can't hurt him."

"There's no way not to hurt him, Clarissa." Mother shakes her head at me, repulsed looking. "You've lied to him from the very beginning. And once he knows, he'll never forgive you. Because everything will be ruined then."

"I'll tell him," I say, almost hopefully. "I'll tell him, and he'll believe me. I know he will."

"Don't be so stupid," she spits. "I know raised you better than that. I know you aren't so naïve."

"It doesn't matter!" I shoot back, glaring at her. "I won't kill him, Mother. We can kill Valentine. I'll _help_ you kill Valentine. And then Jace will be a better ruler than his father. He's already a hundred times the man and father Valentine is. He'll be the same as a ruler."

Mother's jaw tightens, her lips press. And she looks furious. In her eyes, there's nothing but unrestricted rage. And…fear? Is that what I see? A hint of fear?

It can't be.

And then she's growling, "If Jace finds out you killed his father, the same fate will befall you! He'll have you hung! Or thrown out onto the street! He won't forgive that, Clary."

"That's a chance I'll have to take, then," I snap back firmly. "I won't kill him, Mother." I step towards her, until our faces our very close together, until I can't breathe with anger and my eyes find hers and won't let go. Mimicking Jace and his quiet, cold, _effective_ fury, I lower my voice and whisper, "Do _not_ ask me again to do so."

Mother shakes, her rage at an astronomical level, her face red and blotched. There's war in her eyes. But she jerks away from me, towards the door. "I thought you loved me," she lashes out as she walks away. "I thought you were loyal to the plan."

"I'm loyal to my family," is all I say, and then she's gone, and I'm left with a pounding heart and a sick feeling in my gut.

* * *

**I missed y'all. That is all.**


	67. Chapter 67

**A/N: I'm excited about having some inspiration again! EWWW! Odd number chater! ARGH! **

**I skimmed some of the reviews already, and I see a lot of people asking about JC's eyes. I figured I'd go ahead and reply to that. Eye color (correct me if I'm wrong scientific people), is not inherited by parents. So it's okay for JC to have blue eyes. I like blue eyes! Mostly because my whole family has blue eyes. But it's more than that. I could tell y'all, but I'd rather not. It's more of an author's thing. It's something I know, but y'all don't and never will and won't ever need to. If, after the story is over, you're just DYING to know, go ahead and PM me, and I'll tell! (: But for now, just enjoy blued eyed baby JC! (:**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Seven

"You don't understand," I say, shaking my head. "I _have_ to talk to Jace."

Mr. Lamb hesitates yet again. "Mrs. Wayland, it really is very difficult to get in touch with any in the borders. The reception is awful, and Mr. Wayland could be out, anyway. He won't always be in the barracks."

"Really. I _need_ to talk to him," I beg, widening my eyes in desperation. I'm surprised at how far I've fallen. A few months ago, I would have batted my lashes, spoken in a raspy voice a man likes to hear, but the mere thought of it now makes me sick.

That was all my mother. My mother and her bullshit teachings.

I feel sick. "Please, Mr. Lamb. Please. It's…its life or death."

Surprisingly, the honest approach seems to work best, at least on a man like Mr. Lamb, who is obviously guided by compassion. I wonder how he has any decency left, being treated the way he has been by the Guardians, made into a lapdog.

"Very well, Miss," he complies, dipping his head. He grabs the phone on his desk and spins the dial. "It might take a moment."

I simply nod, twisting my fingers as I cast my eyes around the shabby broom cupboard he's forced to work in. He does most of the maintenance and upkeep of this hotel, along with running everyone's errands, and this is the thanks he gets.

If I make it out of this alive, I will make Jace reevaluate the way they treat their half human helpers in this hotel.

"Yes. I need to be patched to the 2nd border," Mr. Lamb says into the phone. He glances over at me, offers a helpful smile.

I force out a response, though it might not be very convincing. My stomach is in knots.

Can I really tell him?

Over the phone?

Is that safer or simply the coward's way out? He's going to be furious either way. At least this way, he can't lash out. Not that I think he'd hit me…

I sigh and rub circles into my pounding temples. My mind has been on overdrive the last twenty minutes since Mother left.

"Yes, this is Hodge Lamb. We need Jace Wayland. It's urgent." He waits for a moment, and I can't breathe. A part of me hopes that he won't be there, that he'll be out and I'll be forced to wait.

I _am_ a coward. If I wasn't, I would have told him everything, the first time I looked at him and didn't feel disgust but instead warmth. I would have told him the first time I looked at our son together. I would have told him the first time he changed JC's diaper, no matter how green he turned.

I should have told him months ago.

I shouldn't have done anything of this to begin with. I should have never listened to my mother, should have never been afraid to stand up to her, to tell her I didn't want to do this. To not be terrified of loosing her love. The love I never even had, that she never even gave.

So many things I should have done.

"Hello, Mr. Wayland. I have your wife here," Mr. Lamb says politely, handing over the phone and nodding to me.

My blood runs cold. I try not to show how my fingers are trembling as I reach for the phone.

"I'll just step out for a moment," Mr. Lamb says, standing up.

"Thanks," I whisper, and he leaves. I hold the phone for a moment, hearing my heart pound, and then, carefully, I lift it up to my ear. "Jace?"

"Hey, honey," he says, his voice fuzzy over the line. I hear shouts in the background, the calls of the other Guardians. "What's wrong?"

I swallow against the sandpaper lining my throat. "I…I have to tell you something."

"What? Are you okay? Is JC okay?" Even though his voice is distorted, the worry comes in clear.

There are suddenly tears in my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. "Yeah, we're okay. I mean…he's okay. I'm okay, too. I guess."

"You guess? Clary, what's wrong?"

I close my eyes, chew on my lip. I can't think.

"Clary? You're starting to scare me, honey."

I take in a shuddering breath, and words pour out of my mouth. "Do you love me?"

There's a stunned beat of silence before he answers. "Yeah. Of course. You know I do."

"Why?" I ask, brokenly.

"B-because…shit. I don't know what I'm supposed to say here."

"The truth. Just say the truth." _The thing that I've been denying you_, I add internally.

"Well…um. I didn't like you at first. Before I met you, I mean. In my mind, you were this big evil my father was forcing me towards. You were the symbol of my impending loss of freedom. I kind of imagined you as this…floozy, you know? You'd tell me everything I wanted to hear, and I didn't want that because everyone always told me what I wanted to hear—and I was sick of it. But then you blew in and called me out on all my shit. And I guess you really hooked me then."

I hear the smile in his voice, and I smile, too, just a little.

"Then we got married, and things were hard," he goes on. "It wasn't ideal. I didn't trust you. You didn't like me. We were at odds. But, after a while, I kind of…I saw a different side of you. I saw that you were just a little girl, you know? Underneath that makeup and those tight dresses, you were just a kid being pushed into something you didn't want by a shit parent—like me."

I bite my lip, hard, to keep from crying, because I don't like crying.

"I think that's when I started falling for you, you know?" Jace murmurs. "I can't really tell you the exact moment. One day it wasn't there and the next, it just was. I just _knew_ it. I fell for you because, despite everything, you were strong. You didn't let life get you down like it did me. You kept your head above water, and I admired that because it's something I lack. When shit gets bad, I get bad. It's the way I've always been. But you…it just made you harder."

"It's not always a good thing," I manage.

"No, I guess not. You can be a bitch sometimes," he replies, grinning now.

I grin tiredly back, even though he can't see me.

"But honestly, you've got the capacity for love, too. I've seen you with JC. I know that underneath everything, you're a good woman. That's why I love you, too. That's what I love most about you."

I put my elbow on the desk, rest my forehead in my hand, and try to breath deeply through my nose.

Then I hear the "awwww's" and catcalls in the background, and if that doesn't shatter the moment, Jace's response of, "Fuck every single one of you," certainly does.

I let out a shaky laugh, brought back down to reality. "Those other Guardians?"

"Yeah," he mutters. "These guys haven't seen the city in months. They've forgotten the very few social graces they once had."

"Fuck you, Wayland," someone jokingly calls.

"Back at you," is Jace's laughing response before he returns his attention back to me. "Anyway, was that what you called me about?"

I hesitate for only a moment before saying, "Yeah. That was all."

"You sure?" he asks, sounding doubtful.

The tears are back, but I blink them away again, give a watery smile. "Yeah, I'm sure. I just…I just wanted to hear that you loved me. It's one of those days. Probably PMS or something."

Jace chuckles. "All right, honey. I _do_ love you. You already knew it."

"Yeah," I say softly, looking up at the picture of Mr. Lamb and what must be his family sitting on the desk. "I do."

* * *

"I don't know what to do, Celine," I whisper to her unresponsive form.

She lies deathly still in her white bed, looking more and more pale by the day. If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of her chest, I would swear she had already passed on from the land of the living.

I grip her ice-cold, delicate hand in mine. "Please. Tell me what to do. Come back into my dreams. I…I need your help. I tried to tell Jace, but…but I'm _scared_," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I'm scared he'll hate me. I don't want him to hate me. I can't have that…because he's all I have now—him and JC, and if I lose one, I lose the other. He'll take JC from me." My bottom lip trembles. "I'm out of options. I have no one else to go to. And…and I'm so fucking alone—"

Footsteps sound outside the infirmary, and I quickly drop Celine's hand, just as Valentine strolls into the doors, looking a bit smug.

"Ah! Clary! How lovely to see you," he announces grandly.

I quickly swipe at my eyes, just in case, as I stand shakily. "Valentine."

"Come to visit my wife?" he inquires, even though the answer is seemingly obvious.

"I figured since no one else would," I say delicately.

Valentine comes up short, his eyes narrowing a bit at me from across Celine. "That was a bit hurtful, Clarissa."

"It's Clary," I say, crossing my arms.

Valentine's black eyes narrow even more, until they are just slits with beady darkness peering out from them. "I see Jonathan has rubbed off on you. How unfortunate."

"For you, maybe."

"Hm." Valentine clasps his hands together in front of him and changes the subject rather abruptly. "How's my boy?"

"_My_ boy is fine, thank you," I reply, arching my brows slightly, my voice calm and cool. This is what I know, what feels good—to have a bit of control back, at least in the way I speak. "And his name is JC."

Valentine's lips purse. "JC. Yes, an interesting name."

"Jonathan Christopher, after your own son. It's hardly startling," I drawl.

"I meant, the abbreviation. JC."

"Your point?"

"Jesus Christ—same initials," he murmurs, pacing up and down the length of Celine's bed once, his eyes on his unresponsive wife. "You've read the Bible, I'm sure."

"Humans aren't allowed to read it," I reply dully.

"That didn't stop you, did it?" he shoots back, a cruel smile tilting his lips. I don't respond, so he continues. "Jesus Christ was the savior. The one that was sent down, to help the humans of the world. 'And you shall call His name JESUS, for He will save His people from their sins.'"

"How very metaphorical," I say, dismissive. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Hadn't you?" Valentine snaps with sudden vehemence and suspicion, glaring up at me.

My eyebrows arch lazily, but my heart begins to beat faster. I respond, slowly, "No, I hadn't."

Valentine's eyes narrow again, and there's a long stretch of tense silence before he blinks and is his normal, deceptively charismatic self. "I heard you spoke with Jonathan yesterday."

"I did," I murmur, carefully, my own eyes narrowing this time.

Valentine chuckles. "Don't look so surprised, Clary. I know everything that goes on here. I'm apprised of these things. And when you put in a very difficult call to Jonathan, nearly in tears about it, I do hear it."

"Is there a point to your display of your all-knowing?" I inquire.

Valentine laughs again. "You _are_ delightful, Clary. I have no doubt why Jonathan is so taken with you."

I simply raise an eyebrow.

"Well, simply put, I'm curious as to _why_ you were calling."

"It's personal."

"I'm afraid it isn't, though." Valentine's voice shifts, turning dark again, but this darkness is less fearful, as it was before. It's more controlled. More direct, and much more dangerous.

I lift my chin a bit. "What are you so worried over? It was just a phone call. I missed your son. Simple as that."

"I don't peg you for the sentimental type."

"I don't really give a shit what you peg me for," I shoot back, without thinking.

Valentine is suddenly walking around Celine's bed, to my side, and he's grabbing my chin roughly, gripping my neck with the other, and squeezing.

I gasp in horror before I choke, feeling my air supply be crippled, and my fingers go up instinctually to rest of Valentine's.

He puts his face close to mine. "Don't make the mistake in thinking that you may talk to me as Jonathan does. He is my son, my blood. You are not. Just an easily disposed of whore. I bought you from your mother, and I can always get a refund."

I glare at him through the pain as he pushes me backwards, towards the wall.

"If you're doing something to disrupt my plans, I will kill you, Clary. Do not think that just because Jonathan is fond of you that it protects you—because I could care less what Jonathan is or is not fond of. Do you understand me?" he asks in a near-whisper.

I claw at his hands, now, to no avail while I feel my back press into the wall.

"Do you understand, Clary?" he repeats clearly.

"Yes," I grind out breathlessly.

He flashes a winning smile. "Excellent. Don't cross my path, darling. It will be ugly." And then he uses his grasp on my throat and slams my head back into the wall.

Pain shoots out, blinding me, and then I'm left in the darkness.

* * *

**Hmmmmm. I am going to try to respond to reviews tonight, but I'm very tired, so they might only get halfway done! Tomorrow, though! I promise! (:**


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